


The Boy Who Loves You

by candlejill



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Bottom Richie Tozier, Coming Out, Film Sets, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hollywood, Homophobic Language, Irresponsible Alcohol Use, M/M, Panic Attacks, Phone Sex, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Rimming, Stealing Richard Siken Quotes For A Fic, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, Top Richie Tozier, Unrealistic Film Production Timelines but we gotta just roll with it, Versatile Eddie/Richie, offensive language, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24309154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candlejill/pseuds/candlejill
Summary: The wood is soft around the knife as he carves in deeper, engraving letters into the old bridge. Richie fights back tears burning his eyes, focusing only on his task until the quiet voice inside him begins to rage."If he makes it, I’ll tell him. Please. Let him make it and I’ll tell him everything. I have to tell him everything. Fucking everything. Please just let him make it."A somber mantra, pleading to a higher power he doesn’t even believe in.Eddie is probably dying in surgery at the hospital across town and Richie can do nothing about it.~*~This is a coming out story.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 71
Kudos: 347





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed (I tried to catch most of the mistakes but apologies for those I've missed)! 
> 
> The title and all dialogue from the indie film are NOT mine - I've completely stolen from Richard Siken's, Crush (specifically "A Primer for the Small Weird Loves" and "Little Beast" - everyone go read Crush!).
> 
> The date for The Bloodhound Gang song referenced is also about 5 years earlier than when it was actually released... but we're going to pretend it came out on an earlier album because it's too perfect not to use.

The wood is soft around the knife as he carves in deeper, engraving letters into the old bridge. Richie fights back tears burning his eyes, focusing only on his task until the quiet voice inside him begins to rage.

_If he makes it, I’ll tell him. Please. Let him make it and I’ll tell him everything. I have to tell him everything. Fucking everything. Please just let him make it._

A somber mantra, pleading to a higher power he doesn’t even believe in. 

Eddie is probably dying in surgery at the hospital across town and Richie can do nothing about it. 

* * *

“Richie,” Bev calls to him across the waiting room and his legs carry him without thought. 

Her voice is so distant, like bad news. It makes his heart clench, not wanting to hear it. Willing anything else to happen in the time it takes him to reach her, just to stop the conversation before it has a chance to begin. It’s safer not knowing what she’s going to say.

But he braces himself anyway because he can’t stop time. Waiting for the worst. Waiting, with cold sweat on his brow and trembling hands for someone to tell him that Eddie fucking died while Richie couldn’t even handle being couped up in the hospital, pacing the halls like a fucking maniac with everyone else. 

He should have stayed. He should have been there. He should have _told_ him. Everyone else stayed but he ran, like he always fucking did when it came to Eddie. How could he have forgotten-  
  
“The police-” she continues, interrupting his thoughts.

“Richie Tozier?”

He blinks, only now realizing there were fucking cops standing in the waiting room and they were looking at him. 

“Uh, yeah,” he wipes his face trying to appear less manic.

“We’re going to need your statement-” the officer begins.

“Statement?” He laughs, “You want my fuckin’ statement? Yeah,” he huffs sarcastically, “A psychotic alien clown impaled my best friend and now we’re waiting to see if he’ll make it out alive! Read the fuckin’ room, asshole.” He shouldn’t talk to a cop like that, but he doesn’t care. What difference does it make at this point?

The officer stares at him for a moment and continues, “I know this is a difficult time, but we can either do this here or you can come with us to the station.”

“Sorry,” Richie rubs his eyes under his glasses. It feels like they’re burning. And he has a headache. The pain he feels is like evidence, the scar holding back the trauma through rough flesh, but now it’s threatening to burst and swallow him whole. “Here is fine,” he says reluctantly.

“We found the body of Henry Bowers-”

“Oh shit, that’s right,” he mumbles under his breath. He fuckin’ killed a guy. Like, a _real_ guy, not some psycho manifestation of evil.

And he forgot. 

“We need to know what happened,” the officer finishes.

Clearing his throat, he says nervously, “Bowers stabbed Eddie in the face, back at the Inn. Eddie stabbed him back, I think. Then, he attacked Mike in the library and then I-” he shook the memory from his mind but blurts out, “I tomahawked him in the fuckin’ skull.” 

Mike clears his throat adding, “But, he stabbed Eddie again before-” he throws Richie a pointed look.

Richie nods, swallowing back the bile he can feel rising, “Yeah, he- he stabbed Eddie again and I-” he looked away. Did that _really_ happen? Did he fucking _murder_ Bowers? He actually killed someone. He snaps back quickly, “It was self defense, though! I mean, look at what he did!” He gestures to Eddie’s room. Apparently that’s the story they were going with and he supposes it sounds better than some kind of paranormal entity that could manifest their greatest fears and kill them with it. “Am I under arrest? Fuck, I need to call my lawyer. Goddamn it, my manager’s gonna be pissed.”

The police officers exchange looks. “Henry Bowers killed several people when he escaped. You’re not under arrest at this time. It would be in your best interest not to leave town quite yet, though.”

Richie exhales, not realizing he has been holding his breath. They give the officers their information, all while Richie bites at the skin of his thumb, stealing glances into Eddie’s room.

“Fuck,” Richie breathes when they finally leave. “Fuck, Bill they’re gonna be all over my ass for this.”

“T-try not to think about it right now,” he replies.

“What are you talking about?” Mike asks, confused.

“The fuckin’ paps. Jesus, that’s the last thing I need right now. They find out Bill’s involved and they’ll be swarming the goddamn hospital for the first scoop. At least Audra’s not here.” He scratches his head, “How long do you think we have? Shit, I gotta call my manager.” Taking a deep breath, he changes the subject to the only thing really on his mind. He still doesn’t want to know, but he forces himself to find the courage to ask, “How’s he doing? Is he-”

“He’s stable, Rich,” Beverly says, in that soft comforting motherly voice she’s picked up somewhere in the time since they’d all left Derry. “They’re not sure, but if he makes it through the night it’s a good sign.”

“Did anyone call his wife?” Ben asks.

_Shit._

Richie’s heart freezes. He forgot Eddie was married. Here he was, planning to confess his big gay love, and Eddie has a wife to go home to. Not that he expects Eddie to feel the same. Obviously he wouldn’t because he was fucking married. To a woman.

 _It doesn’t change a thing_ . Richie shakes his head. He will still tell him. If he makes it out of this- if Eddie can hold on, Richie _will_ tell him.

“She’ll be here soon,” Mike says.

_Fuck._

“I gotta- I have to-” Richie swallows down the lump in his throat, “I have to make some calls.” 

He runs. Again. Out of the hospital doors and into his fancy rental car. First thing he needs to do is swap it out for something less conspicuous. At least give the paparazzi a challenge before they find him.

No.

The first thing he needs to do is call his manager.

He takes a deep breath, searching through his contacts until he sees _Jason Fuchs_ glaring back. It doesn’t ring nearly as long as he hopes for before he picks up. Richie immediately regrets not emailing him instead. He’s not ready to talk about it. 

_“Richie! How’s it going, man? You ready for the tour? Reno isn’t gonna know what hit-”_

“I killed a guy,” he panics. “I mean, it was self defense. He stabbed my best friend in the face but then I split his skull open with an ax, and I think I’m gonna need a lawyer. The cops believe me. I mean, it’s the fucking _truth,_ so I don’t think I have much to worry about here, legally-speaking. But the fuckin’ paps are gonna be crawling and I think I need to cancel some dates, man. Eddie’s in the hospital and they don’t know if he’s gonna-”

_“Rich! Rich, what the hell? Is this a bit? Calm down. What the hell are you talking-”_

“I killed a guy! Aren’t you listening?”

There is a long pause.

_“I’m waiting for the punchline, Richie.”_

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose under his glasses, “I’m not fucking joking, man!”

_“You’re serious?”_

“Yes, I’m fucking serious, Jason!” Richie’s legs bounce and he closes his eyes tight. “I need a lawyer, man.”

_“What the hell happened?”_

He huffs a laugh, “A psycho escaped the fuckin’ nut house, stabbed my best friend in the face, attacked us, and I- fucking, I-” Richie sighed. “I don’t know if he’s going to make it and I’m losing my shit. So, can you just find me a lawyer and put TMZ on hold? Do whatever the fuck it is you do and just keep the paps off of me as long as you can? Tell them I’m in fuckin’ Rio and this is just some, I don’t know, just a fuckin’ rumor.” He took a deep breath and added, “Oh, and Bill Denbrough is here.”

_“Bill Denbrough? Who is- Oh, the writer?”_

“Yeah,” Richie bites his lip nervously, “We’re old friends.”

_“Is Audra there? I thought they were shooting the-”_

“No, just Bill. Look,” he interrupts, “We decided on an impromptu reunion and now this fucking thing happened.” He pauses before adding, “And Bev Marsh is here too. The designer. Apparently she’s a big deal. I don’t know.”

_“Any other celebrities you grew up with?”_

“No,” he furrows his brow and wonders if Ben counts. No one really cares about architects, even if he has done well for himself, but he adds, “I don’t think so. Can you just keep the paparazzi out of Derry, or what?” 

Jason sighs, _“Look, Richie, I can do my best but as soon as this gets out, I can’t keep this quiet, man. This is some real shit.”_

“You’re fuckin’ tellin’ me,” Richie shakes his head. “Just, hook me up with a lawyer. Email me the information. I gotta-”

_“Wait! Are you okay?”_

Richie laughs, “No! I’m not fucking okay. Like, I’m not fucking hurt but I’m freakin’ the fuck out, man. Just, send me the info!”

He hangs up the phone before Jason can say another word. 

Closing his eyes he takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, he stares at the entrance of the ER. Eddie is in there, probably dying-

_No. Stable. Bev said he was stable._

But how the fuck would _he_ know? He was too busy being anywhere but next to Eddie where he should be. 

The overwhelming need to see him washes over Richie. He is tired, so damn tired, but his legs carry him back into the waiting room without realizing he had even left his car. He looks around the room to find it empty of his friends. 

Taking a deep breath, he walks to Eddie’s room.

The lump in his throat is back when he sees everyone gathered around Eddie. He looks so damn small in that bed, hooked up to an IV, fluids and meds pumping through his veins. As Richie walks closer, Beverly stands from the chair closest to Eddie. She squeezes Richie’s arm as he takes her seat, no one bothers to say a thing. 

He wants to make a joke or some smartass remark, to pretend that what’s happening is only a bad dream. For Eddie to just be asleep and for it all to be some gag to get back at Richie for all the years of torture he put his friends through.

But for once in his life he can’t think of a single fucking thing to say. 

Reaching out for Eddie’s hand, he strokes it gently. Then finally he breaks. Sobbing over his nearly lifeless form, he lets himself feel everything. All the memories he’d lost and the time in between comes flooding back with the tears that fall on the too stiff sheets. And all he can do is wait and hope that Eddie will wake up.

* * *

Myra Kaspbrak is a fucking bitch.

Hours later when she walks into the room, panicking and frantic like they all had been when they first arrived, she kicks everyone right the hell out of the room. Richie tries to fight with her, calling her every name in the book before Ben and Mike have to haul him out.

He’s fuming when he drives back to his room at the Inn. His only goal is to drink himself into a blackout. Myra is a goddamn bitch for not letting them stay. And she is a motherfucker for not letting any of them check on him in the days that follow.

Richie ends up bribing a few nurses on duty. Being a D-list celebrity has its perks and if there is ever a time to cash in, it's when his friend is hurt. The nurses call him once Myra leaves for the night so he can sneak in to be by Eddie’s side. She doesn’t even stay the night with her own fucking husband, that cocksucker. 

_She probably doesn’t even suck cock._

Richie would suck Eddie’s cock. He’ll fully offer to do it once he wakes up, too, just to make up for the fears of his past. And Eddie _will_ wake up. He made it through the first night and the doctors said that all signs indicate he is recovering. 

He just needs to wake the hell up.

Richie only falls asleep lying over Eddie one time before a nurse comes in to check vitals and wakes him. The nurses like him, though. He makes sure to bite his tongue around them, play the charming comedian from Hollywood role he’d grown into. It’s probably the novelty of celebrity, but they let him stay well past the visitation hours and he doesn’t question it. But he _is_ too fucking old to fall asleep draped over Eddie, and he pays for it with the aches and muscle tension the next day. 

He always leaves before Myra shows up. 

During the days he meets up with the guys and Bev. They talk about Eddie. They talk about Stan. They share their memories, which are coming back exceedingly graphic in Richie’s case. He leaves the more personal details out while sharing his, though. When he visits Eddie at night, he tells him all the stories they’ve remembered. How the swooning is going both ways between Bev and Ben now, they’re not hiding a damn thing. And how Mike can’t stop talking about all the places he wants to visit because he knows he can _finally_ get the hell out of Derry. 

But he can’t tell Eddie about how he feels, not yet. Not while he’s asleep. It would be cheating. So he just blabbers on about how being with Eddie and the rest of the guys was the happiest he remembers being now that he _actually_ remembers it.

Flashes of him and Eddie crammed together in the hammock pass through his thoughts. The days when all it took was a warm breeze for Richie to be sporting wood and he’d have to hide it boner under a comic book and run his mouth to distract Eddie from noticing. Shoulder checking him anytime he walked by, just to be close. Feel his body solidly against him. 

Richie was practically on top of him that summer. 

And the next.

And the next.

Until they all left, except for Mike. 

And how could Richie fucking forget Eddie fucking Kaspbrak? And those stupid shorts, pulled up so high on his thighs he could almost-

“His fanny pack, guys,” Richie slurs. He wasn’t that drunk, not really, but he hadn’t been sleeping and the exhaustion from the stress alone was enough to make him feel doped. “Remember that stupid thing? I miss his fanny pack. Do you know where I could get one? For when he wakes up?”

Bev laughs and pats his back sympathetically.

“Yeah, you remember his first aid kit. He had everything in there, but how often did anyone ever use it?” Mike adds.

“No one but Eddie,” Richie smiles thoughtfully. “Well, and Ben. Did that scar ever fade? You and Eddie get to be scar twins now!” It makes sense in his head, they were both marked up by Bowers. 

Richie wishes more than anything _he_ could leave a mark like that on Eddie. Something that could never be forgotten. A stain on his soul because of Richie alone. The thought is fucked up, but he wants it all the same.

Ben shrugs an answer but Richie isn’t paying attention anyway.

They are in a bar. Too early to be rowdy, but a few people walk in closer to them. Richie turns his head away, hiding behind a menu. He’s been doing a good job of laying low, waiting, so far successfully evading anyone with a camera. However, this time he is too late to realize what’s happening when the onslaught begins. 

“Richie Tozier? Is it true you killed a guy?” The man asks.

“Aw, fuck. Christ,” he tries to slouch down in his chair to avoid the flashing lights from the cameras he knows are coming next.

Ben stands, “Hey, this is a private-”

“How’s your friend doing, Richie?” Another speaks up, “Heard he might die.”

 _Fuck._

That is it. 

He stands, pushing the table up as he slides past his friends. He holds out his middle finger as he walks away adding a few _fuck yous_ before they move on to Bill. He walks to his car, flinging open the door, he sits down in the driver’s seat but the wave of nausea overtakes him as he thinks about the words similar to the ones he’s been hearing in his mind for days.

_He might die._

Leaning out the open door, he throws up.

His throat burns as he wipes his mouth and he closes the door quickly. Fumbles for a bottle of water he clears the taste. He allows himself a deep breath before peeling out of the parking lot driving straight to the hospital. He probably shouldn’t be driving. No, he _knows_ he shouldn’t be driving. But fuck it. 

He needs to be with Eddie.

When he gets there, Richie sits in the hospital parking lot willing himself to sober up. Wondering how badly he reeks of alcohol and if anyone will notice. 

He really isn’t that drunk anyway, but he knows what’s waiting for him in Eddie’s room. He knows it’s too early. He hasn’t gotten the _OK_ from the nurse on duty yet, so he isn’t surprised when he finally gets brave enough to go inside and finds Myra in Eddie’s room. She looks at him, eyes barely lifting from the magazine in her hand.

Richie stands in the doorway, feeling awkward as she stares back at him with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. She makes him feel like a kid being told off, but fuck her. He knew Eddie first. She doesn’t have a clue the shit Eddie’s been through, and not just with the fucking clown. She would never know him like he did.

“How’s he doing?” Richie tries carefully, daring to walk into the room.

“Getting better,” she offers back tersely. “I told you not to come back. He doesn’t need the stress.”

Sighing, Richie tries, “Eddie’s my best friend-”

“Best friend? He doesn’t even know you. He never mentioned you once the whole time we’ve been together. Besides telling me how much he hates your stand-up.”

Richie lifts his eyebrows, “He saw my shows?”

She narrows her eyes, “He couldn’t stop talking about how bad they were.”

Taking a deep breath, and throwing on some zen-like-fucking-patience, Richie says slowly, “I’m sorry for before, okay? I was- You heard what happened. It was a pretty fuuu- _tense_ day. And I didn’t mean to take it out on _you.”_ It takes all his self control to grit the apology through his teeth, but he does it.

Myra seems to accept it, “I guess we were all running a little hot that day.”

“So, can I stay?” He asks.

“For a little while,” she relents, then stands. “I’m going to the cafeteria.” Richie watches her walk away, flipping his middle finger at her after she leaves the room.

Taking a deep breath, he turns back to the bed and pulls up the chair in his usual spot next to Eddie.

“I knew you didn’t write your own material,” Eddie’s voice is hoarse as he winces.

“Eddie!” Richie smiles, brows lifted high.

“She didn’t believe me when I said I knew you,” Eddie smiles back weakly.

“Yeah, ‘cause she’s a fuckin’ bitch,” Richie sneers.

“Okay, can you not talk about my wife like that while I’m on my deathbed?”

“When did you wake up?” Richie asks. “How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?”

“Look at you, suddenly not an asshole. All it takes is one near death experience and Trashmouth turns into my bitch,” Eddie teases. “I think I come in and out. They have me on something really fuckin’ good. I can’t feel a thing.”

“Dude, you were fuckin’ skewered, man. You don’t-” Richie wipes his mouth anxiously as his legs bounce in the chair. He can feel tears burning as he swallows back the lump in his throat, “You don’t know how close it was.” Lifting his glasses, he rubs the heel of his palms into his eyes.

“Shit, it must have been bad if this is how you’re acting. Unless-” Eddie pauses. His voice is quiet when he asks, “Is everyone else okay? Did they make it out? Did we kill It? I don’t remember much.”

Richie looks up to meet his eyes, smiling back at him, “They’re fine, man. We did it.” 

Eddie relaxes back into the pillow.

“Have the cops been here yet?”

“No, Myra’s been asking me about it, though. Said something about Bowers so I’ve just been saying I can’t remember.”

“Official word on the street,” Richie sits up straight, “I killed him in self defense after he impaled you.”

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind if I suddenly recover my memory.”

Richie bites his lip and shakes his head. Eddie is alive and he is going to be okay. When he leaves the hospital that evening it’s with a light heart and he can finally sleep again.

One by one, each member of the Losers Club leaves town. Before they do, they visit Eddie. But once it becomes clear he will make a full recovery they move on to their new lives, this time fully remembering what each had left behind.

Richie keeps telling himself that he’ll leave too, after he _tells_ Eddie. He promised he’d do it and he will. It’s just a conversation, he just has to tell him. 

But he can’t. 

The thought of it paralyses him, especially with Myra lurking. The news spreads quickly that he is still in Derry. A few paparazzi pictures of him heading into the hospital leak onto the internet but he still refuses to comment publicly, despite the hounding from his manager to put something out. 

When he feels complete self loathing, he scrolls through Twitter. Most commentary is actually supportive but there are always a few assholes spinning conspiracies that he is unhinged and unstable.

He has to concede that isn’t entirely untrue.

Not enough days pass before Eddie is released from the hospital. He is far from healed, but Myra insists he is well enough to travel because he’ll recover better at home. 

The thought of Eddie leaving makes Richie physically ill. He hasn’t gotten along any better with Myra but she is at least reasonable enough to let him continue to visit the hospital. He suspects it’s more Eddie’s doing by the way they argue while he’s there. Whenever they fight, Richie feels the pangs of satisfaction and hides his smile.

On his last day, Richie has finally run out of time. He has to tell Eddie. He _has_ to. Whether it is for himself or for Eddie, he isn’t sure. 

Fuck it.

It’s for himself and he knows it.

He is goddamn tired of living in fear. Of pushing down what he’s felt for so long. Being gay isn’t the end of the fucking world, and he knows that for a fact. But he also knows telling Eddie is only the first step towards changing his life. It’s not easy, but he’s had plenty of time to think and he knows it’s right.

When Richie finally tells Eddie he needs to speak to him alone, Myra is unhappy that Eddie insists on it before leaving town. Richie thinks Myra even seems shocked that Eddie is unwavering. He didn’t argue it, just frankly stated he was going to leave the hospital with Richie. And it warms Richie’s heart to see him stand up to her for _him._

He ends up sneaking Eddie out of the hospital in a wheelchair and into his new minivan rental to avoid the paparazzi. They’ve mostly grown tired of being in Derry but there are always a few lingering, hoping to get him to speak. Trying to egg him on to see if there’s another reason he hasn’t left town.

“Really, Richie? A fuckin’ minivan? Where’s the fuckin’ small dick mobile you showed up in?” Eddie teases.

“I doubt The Warden lets you go on the internet, but I’m fuckin’ blowin’ up man. For killing Bowers. It’s a pain in the ass. This is my low profile.”

Eddie laughs, “How the hell did _you_ get famous? Like, you know that still blows my fuckin’ mind, right? How the hell did you make a career out of being a dipshit?”

“Now I get paid for being a jackass. And think, you got it all for free, Eds.” Richie holds the steering wheel tight, knuckles tense and white as he drives to the kissing bridge. “And I get paid a lot, Edward. I mean, I’m fuckin’ loaded. Fuckin’ Beverly Hills,” he puts on his best narrator voice, “ _Swimming pools. Movie stars._ ”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, ya fuckin’ Hillbilly. I get it. Where the hell are you taking me?”

Richie swallows and nervously breathes to himself, “Fuck.” 

“You’re being really fucking weird, you know that? Why are you being weird?”

“Okay, look. So, you know how we had all these memories after coming back here? Stuff we forgot, right?”

“Yeah?” Eddie eyes him suspiciously. “You’re not bringing me back to that fuckin’ house are you?”

“No,” Richie shakes his head. “It’s got nothing to do with that. This is one of my memories.” His stomach flutters as he thinks about how the next thirty minutes are going to go.

“Okay,” Eddie says carefully, “You want to share one of your memories with me?”

“Something like that,” Richie admits hesitantly. 

They reach the bridge too soon. Richie’s been pushing this off for days and now that he’s here he knows he’s truly run out of time. Turning to park on the side of the road, Richie’s heart pounds hard as he turns the car off. Taking a moment to inhale, he calms himself the best he can. He has a flashback to his early days before he’d go on stage. The same sick, anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach that threatens to upheave all his hard work takes root. 

With another deep breath, he says, “Okay, so- fuck it.” 

He leaves a confused Eddie and gets out of the van, only pacing for a moment before he walks to the other side, tightening and relaxing his fist as he approaches the passenger’s side. The door opens slowly as he realizes Eddie’s trying to get out. So he rushes the last steps in order to help him. 

“Take it easy, dude,” Richie chastises.

“Shit, I want to tell you to fuck off but I do actually need your help here,” Eddie swings his legs down as Richie braces his arm.

“You want me to get the wheelchair?” He asks, brows furrowing with concern.

“How far are we going? You’re not taking me on a hike are you?” Eddie stands on his own, but uses the van to balance himself.

“No, just over there,” Richies points to the bridge in front of them.

“Okay, that should be fine,” Eddie winces as he takes a small step forward. “Ah, fuck. This fucking sucks.”

Richie wraps his arm around Eddie’s waist to help guide him and he winces again. “Fuck, man. Let me get the chair-”

“Fuck off, it’s fine. The stitches and the glue are just pulling my skin. My muscles are sore as fuck. I’m supposed to be walking around a little, it’s good physical therapy.” They walk a little further before he asks, “What the fuck are we doing here again?”

Richie inhales as they get closer to his carving. All the words he had planned to say leave his mind and instead he blurts, “Right, so, I’m not fucking with you. I’m just gonna start with that. You’re gonna tell me to fuck off or think I’m messing with you and I’m not. And I don’t know how to prove that I’m being serious so I thought, ‘Hey, why not bring him here?’ And just, fucking- I’ve never told anyone before, like the words have never left my mouth, and this is a lot, man. Like, for me. Maybe for you, I don’t fuckin’ know. I’m doing this for _me,_ though. And it’s not like I’m expecting anything from you, you know? I just need to say it. I need to tell someone.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, dude?”

Richie stops in front of their initials. He doesn’t turn his head to look at them. He knows they’re glaring back at him. 

“I’m gay,” he says.

And he isn’t swallowed into the pits of hell because of his confession. The birds chirp and the world moves on.

“What?” Eddie tries to catch his eye, but Richie turns his head away. 

He leaves Eddie to stand on his own as he begins pacing. “Yeah, that was what my memory was. I mean, not that I’m a flaming homo. I remembered that, as repressed and in denial and closeted as I am, I did _not_ forget _that_. But just, what it was like growing up here. Being called a fag. Fucking Bowers-” He takes a deep breath, but still can’t meet Eddie’s eyes as he says quietly, “And I remembered my first love.”

“You’re serious right now?” Eddie asks skeptically. “You’re not fucking with me?”

“No!”

“This isn’t some elaborate joke? You’re not going to throw in something about fucking my mom?”

“Who do you think turned me gay?” Richie can’t stop himself. “Sorry,” he rubs his face, “No, I’m one hundred percent serious. I love dick. I always have. This is the first time I have _ever_ told anyone. That fuckin’ clown knew it and it was a whole fuckin’ thing with him, and _fuck_ him by the way. I’m not letting this hold me back anymore.”

Eddie stares at him while Richie ignores the hammering in his chest.

“Well?” Richie huffs, “Say something!” He finally turns to see Eddie studying him. He still looks like shit, bags under his eyes, too pale, too thin, but at least he isn’t on death’s door.

“Uh, thanks for sharing?” Eddie pauses awkwardly. “I don’t know, man. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? Why’d you bring me _here_ to tell me?” He asks softly.

“Okay, so, that’s the other part. That’s the… memory part.” Embarrassed, Richie grabs Eddie’s shoulders and steers him around. He points to the carving in the wood and takes a step back.

Eddie swears under his breath and inches closer, “Holy fuck. _You_ did that?”

Richie covers his face, “When we were kids and then when you were in the hospital I was kind of going crazy with all these memories. It’s dumb. And I’m sorry. But I guess I just wanted to tell you. Figured the worst you’d do is ignore me for the _next_ twenty years.”

Eddie’s fingers trace the carving as Richie paces back and forth. 

“Jesus,” he’s breathless when he says it.

“Yeah, so, that’s why I brought you out here. To confess my big gay love.”

Eddie turns slowly. Holding his stomach, he winces, “You _love_ me?”

“I mean, puppy love. When we were kids,” Richie says quickly. “I can’t even remember the last time we talked before all this. I’m not trying to break up your marriage or anything. Though, Eds, I gotta say you need to do some serious soul searching about that Sonia Jr. you found in Myra, Jesus Christ. The rest of the gang and I, we all talked a lot while you were recovering, and we all realized we had these repressed experiences holding us back. Beverly left her husband. Pretty sure she and Ben are fucking. Mike’s getting the hell out of Derry finally. Bill says he finally has enough closure in his life to write a decent fucking ending for once. And I’m trying to, you know, move past this. Or be more authentic or some shit. I don’t know. Was this a huge mistake?”

Eddie looks at him for a tense moment. “No,” he says finally. “No, I’m glad you told me. It’s just- it’s a lot.”

“Is it?” Richie crosses his arms around himself protectively, practically bouncing with nerves.

Eddie starts to wobble as he takes a step toward Richie who quickly catches him. Wrapping his arm around his waist, he helps guide him back to the van.

“I had a lot of memories come back too, you know. It wasn’t just you.” Eddie’s breath hitches as he turns his head and stops walking. 

He is so close to Richie. To his lips. And those big eyes behind dark lashes, telling Richie too much that he wants to hear. He can feel the tension in all his muscles. And he’s right fucking there in front of him. He could kiss him. But Richie shakes himself out of it and pulls away, continuing to guide Eddie the rest of the way to the van. Eddie doesn’t seem to notice as he helps him into the car. 

Taking a deep breath, and mumbling a pep talk for himself, Richie gets into the driver’s side to take them to the hotel Myra has been staying at. 

The drive is tense. 

“This is really fucking awkward,” Richie remarks, “I didn’t think this part through. I thought I could just tell you and say ‘See ya later, fuckface!’ And be off. I mean, I was pretty sure you weren’t gonna punch me since you can’t even walk.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie smiles. “No, I’m just thinking back to all those sleepovers. And the way you’d fight extra hard just to piss _me_ off the most. I thought it was all in my head, but I knew it! I knew you fuckin’ picked on me more than anyone else! And you’re saying that you had a crush on me that whole time?”

“Not a crush. I was in love with you, man.” Richie’s knuckles grip too tight against the wheel. Fuck it, if he’s telling him, he wants to tell him everything. “Eddie, I memorized the shape of your lips from staring so long, in complete awe, over how fuckin’ fast you could talk. I spent countless hours wondering if it would shut you up if I could get your dick far enough down my throat. Or if you’d talk straight through a blow job too. I figured you probably wouldn’t let me anyway because you’d tell me we’d get AIDS or some shit. But I almost offered so many times. You were always so tense and I just wanted you to relax a little. To feel good. That, and I wanted to taste your dick so fucking bad.”

Eddie shakes his head, “You’re fuckin’ with me, man. There’s no way- no _way_ you hid all that from me.”

Richie shrugs, “The proof is carved in the kissing bridge, I guess.” He pulls into the parking lot thinking, _This is it. This is the last time I’ll see him, maybe ever again._ But hopefully not. “Look, you know there’s always a standing invitation at my place, right? Anytime. Day or night. If your Oedipal Complex ever lets you leave her sight, come to California.” He laughs, and reaches for a joke knowing before he says anything that it’ll fall flat, “I can take care of you too. Fuck, I’ll hire your own nursing staff with a twenty-four seven, on-call doctor. I’ll even put in a ramp for you, gimpy.” 

He gets one last laugh from Eddie as he hesitates while reaching to open the door. He’s not ready to leave him, not yet. But he knows he can’t drag it out any longer, so he grips his fingers around the handle.

“Wait. Just wait,” Eddie grabs Richie’s arm nearest to him and Richie freezes, holding it in place where Eddie’s fingers burn on his arm. 

Richie turns with wide eyes and takes a deep breath. Too many emotions are looking back at him. Fear and shame and something intangible that Richie isn’t ready to face.

“You just drop that on me and leave? Are you fucking kidding me?” Eddie says softly.

“Eddie-”

“No, Richie. Just give me a second here. Let me process this,” Eddie lets go of his arm and looks down. “You were really in _love_ with me?”

The way Eddie says it, so soft and nothing like how they usually talk to one another, nearly ruins him. Richie’s heart is in his throat, squeezing tight, and he can’t swallow it down. He can’t let the memories of everything Eddie was and _is_ just be brushed aside like the last twenty odd years.

“Yeah, Eddie. I was.” His hands tremble when he admits, “For so damn long. I don’t know if it ever really went away. I-” He makes a fist. It is all too much. Too overwhelming. And he can’t hold it inside anymore. He feels the tears as they streak down his face while admitting quietly, “I didn’t tell anyone else, but I fuckin’ saw you die, man. In the Deadlights. Just like Bev. You were fuckin’ dead. You didn’t make it. And all I could think was that you didn’t _know._ You never knew how much you meant to me. You saved me in that house and a thousand times over. This town-” he nods, swallowing back his tears, “It fucks you up. And you and the rest of the gang were the only good things in it. But you, Eddie? Jesus, Eds, you were everything to me.”

Eddie reaches out, holding Richie’s hand while he watches, too numb to process. He squeezes it tight and when Richie looks at him, his eyes are wet too. “Richie, you know I love you, man. The whole gang.” Eddie pulls his arm close, forcing him into a hug in the front seat of the stupid minivan. 

_The whole gang._

He tries not to be disappointed as Eddie holds onto him tight. Reaching his arms up, he cradles Eddie’s head in his hands, just like he saw in the Deadlights, and finally lets out a sob.

Too much has happened in too short of time and he can’t hold it back. Eddie is alive and in his arms and he isn’t disgusted by him. It is the best Richie can hope for and he is grateful for it. He doesn’t want to let go, and he swears he feels Eddie trembling too, but then there is an intrusive, impatient knock on the passenger window.

Richie jumps, like he’s caught doing something perverse, and he pulls away from Eddie’s embrace, wiping his eyes quickly.

“Fuck that bitch,” he breathes quietly as he smiles and waves at Myra’s irritable face glaring back at him through the window.

“Richie,” Eddie means to chastise, but he has a small smile in the corner of his mouth and it makes Richie feel like he’s flying. 

“You know, I was going to blow you quick before you left,” he always finds comfort in his jokes. The safety he could always hide in. “Figured you might be into it. When was the last time you were sucked off, Eds? It wouldn’t make you gay, just someone who can appreciate a fantastic blow job. I’d even let you fuck my-”

The door is pulled open.

“Myra!” Eddie greets loudly.

“Throat.” Richie finishes with a shit-eating grin.

Eddie glares at him, but the blush high on his cheeks lets Richie know that his words had the intended effect.

“What’s that?” Myra asks.

“Richie has a sore throat,” Eddie offers quickly. “Hey, can you grab the wheelchair, Rich?” 

“You can _give_ me a sore throat,” he says under his breath as he climbs out of the van.

“Beep, beep, Richie,” he hears Eddie calling to him.

He smiles to himself as he removes the chair from the back and opens it up. Wheeling it to the passenger door, he helps Eddie out but before he sits down, Eddie holds his hand on Richie’s shoulder. 

They share a knowing smile. Eddie nods at him and pulls him in for a hug. “How about a raincheck on the sore throat?”

Richie knows he’s only teasing along, but it makes his stomach jump. “Sure thing. Next time. When you come out to L.A.” He winks. Patting his head, he takes a deep breath and pulls away. 

He hates saying goodbye to Eddie, but when he finally leaves Derry he feels more at peace than he has his whole life.


	2. Chapter 2

“So, now, we’ve heard the _unofficial_ story. You haven’t said anything about it yet, but you know it’s on everyone’s mind.”

“I’m here to finally set the record straight!” Richie puts on his most serious face, “And yes, Conan. My dick really _is_ that big.” The audience erupts into laughter.

“No! Not that!” Conan laughs along.

Of course Richie knows what he means. It's the whole fuckin’ reason he is doing Conan. He lets the audience’s laughter die down as he thinks back on the past few months.

After Richie returned home from Derry he briefly dove headfirst into vanity searches and social media posts. Some lauded him a hero when pictures of him at the hospital made the rounds, complete with captions about how bravely he saved his friends. But most of his time was spent locked up in his office working on new material for his tour, which had been postponed after the events in Derry. 

His old set felt even more vapid in the wake of the events from back home. He couldn’t imagine himself on stage reciting the same stale jokes that meant nothing to him. So he reworked it and discussed a directional career change with his agent. He was able to lock down a lead role in an indie drama. Anything to push himself outside of the box he had built and to keep his mind from lingering too long on Eddie.

Jason tried to warn him about alienating his core fanbase, but fuck them. Richie was done with the old misogynistic shitty girlfriend shtick. He was invigorated and motivated for the first time in years and he was ready to get back out there. But that, of course, meant hitting the press tours to promote his new projects. 

Which of course meant addressing the elephant in Hollywood; _Richie Tozier’s Big Fat Murder!_

He smiles at Conan and says, “Yeah, funnily enough, talking about self-defensive homicide isn’t usually a laugh riot, so normally I leave it for the armchair investigators of Reddit to speculate.” Trying to ease his nerves, he rubs his sweating palms on his pant leg as he continues, “What better place to talk about my _extremely_ traumatic experience than on late night television in front to millions of people, right?”

The audience laughs and Conan adds, “Right? Perfect material. Hope the viewers at home are enjoying the taste of those tears.”

“Yeah,” Richie smiles to himself and continues, “Yeah, so anyway, as you know, a few months ago a few of my childhood friends and I decided to have a little reunion. Just a small group of us.” Richie looks at the camera, “Shout out to Ben, Bev, Mike and Bill!” 

“William Denbrough,” Conan clarifies for the audience, “The author and screenplay writer.”

“Yeah, the one and only,” Richie smiles. He can’t bring himself to say Eddie’s name yet, afraid that something will show. 

“Did he make you read his stories as a kid?”

Richie laughs, “No, I tortured him with what I thought was comedy, though. If you’re familiar with my act now, I promise you it was _thousands_ of times worse back then.”

“But everyone is raving about your new stuff!” Conan says. “You have a sold out tour, and I hear you’re starring in an indie film!” 

The audience applauses.

“Yeah, thank you. People seem to like the new direction I guess.”

“It seems like your experience really revitalized your career.”

“Yeah,” Rich nods. “Watching your friends almost get killed will do that I guess. Nothing to change your outlook on life like murdering a guy!” There’s an awkward pause in the audience before Richie continues, “See, this is why I don’t talk about it. Not many laughs in killing someone.”

“It’s why Gacy didn’t make it as a clown,” Conan adds. “If we all would have laughed at his jokes he never would have gone homicidal!”

“Yeah,” Richie grits his teeth. He shivers at the thought and admits, “I hate clowns.”

“Who doesn’t, right? But this guy that attacked you, he was a bad guy?”

Richie laughs nervously, “Yeah, so the short version is that he escaped from an institution. Killed a couple of guys doing that, then attacked my friends and me. And luckily I was in the right place at the right time and I was able to stop him.”

“You call that lucky? I think not being there at all would be better.” The audience laughs.

“Yeah, right?” Richie agrees, nodding along, hoping he’s almost out of time.

“But one of your friends was seriously injured by him?”

“Eddie, yeah,” he is quiet when he says it. It’s all too personal but none of what he’s saying is real anyway. More fake bullshit for his career. Though, it’s not like any of his friends can tell the truth either. Only to each other. So he smiles, “This guy stabbed my best friend Eddie pretty good before I was able to stop him. Eddie got in a good one before he went down, though. I’ll give him credit for that. He slowed him down for me.”

“How’s Eddie doing now?”

Richie tries to hide his bashful smile that comes across his face before he realizes it. “He’s good. Yeah, and he’s doing alright now.”

“That’s great!” Conan says as the camera cuts away to a picture of Richie going into the hospital. “They said you wouldn’t leave his side until he was discharged from the hospital. Quite the hero!” Conan says.

Richie thinks about the sewers and the house on Neibolt and Bowers and the rest of the Hell that was growing up in Derry. He and his friends _were_ goddamn heroes, but not for stopping Bowers. 

“Yeah, they wanted to cast me in the next Marvel film but I had to turn them down. Scheduling conflicts.”

He’s won the audience’s laughter again.

Conan continues, “Speaking of that, you mentioned earlier, there’s been a bit of a change from your usual comedy career that we’ve all loved so much.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Richie smiles nervously. “I’ve been working really hard on an indie drama. It’s going to hit the festival circuit soon. We’re all very excited about that. It’s crazy, my agent got me the part last minute when they had to recast the lead. I don’t think they wanted me. Like, who the hell would, right? But they let me read for it and decided to give me a chance. Within a couple weeks I was flying out to film. The whole thing was shot in less than a month.” 

And Richie is shitting himself over it. It is his first serious role. He still doesn’t know what the fuck he was thinking when he accepted the part, but it was different and it was close to home, and it was everything he wanted after escaping Derry. He still hasn’t come out publicly but he felt playing gay in the lead role was at least a good way to safely test the waters.

“I gotta say,” Conan leans in, “People are really talkin’ about this one. Saying you are really great.”

“Aw, thanks man.” 

“There’s a lot of buzz around it!” He adds.

They continue to banter. Richie pops into characters leaving the audience laughing strong as they finish the interview. Conan again promotes his upcoming projects and gives him a handshake. He is glad to be done. He hadn’t said too much about Derry that’s how he wanted to keep it.

* * *

_Eddie: Hey, I was bummed out you didn’t make it to Chicago._

Richie stares at his phone. It’s not like it was unusual for Eddie to text him, but his stomach still leaps whenever he receives a message. Tripping over his fingers, he replies back. 

_Richie: Yeah, sorry man. I wanted to be there. Next time for sure._

_Eddie: I saw your interview on Conan._

_Shit._

He doesn’t know why it makes him so nervous. Maybe because all he could think about in the days before the interview was Eddie in the hospital. Being at his bedside. Telling him he had been in love with him. 

Realizing through the distance and occasional phone calls he _still_ is.

He _could_ have made it to Chicago to meet up with the guys, but Richie is a fucking pussy and can’t face Eddie. He’s been coming up with excuses for not making the meet ups for too long, though. He won’t be surprised if they all show up at his door and called his ass out.

_Eddie: I’m your best friend, huh?_

_Shit. Did I say that?_ Richie wonders. He must have or Eddie wouldn’t have brought it up. It’s been a while since they taped the interview so he couldn’t remember. 

_Eddie: It’s been too long since you’ve seen your best friend._

Richie replies quickly. 

_Richie: Then get your ass to California, dickwad._

Yeah, that sounded fine. A totally normal thing to say.

_Eddie: Earthquakes, man. Are you fucking crazy? The fault line? Fucking deathtrap!_

Richie smiles in relief but that quickly turns to disappointment. He wants to say more, to keep the conversation going, but he is too nervous and unsure of what to say. 

_Richie: My place is earthquake proof. What’s your excuse now?_

He doesn’t know why he does it. He doesn’t know why he’s trying to provoke him into coming.

No, that’s a dirty fucking lie. He knows exactly why he wants Eddie out here. He fucking misses him. The sad thing is, Eddie _is_ his best friend. As sporadically as they talk, barely sharing texts and short phone calls, it always means more to Richie than anyone he sees in his daily life.

His phone rings and Eddie’s name pops up.

_Fuck._

He can’t just ignore it, so he answers, “What’s up, Spagheds?”

 _“You have time to talk or are you, I don’t know, in the middle of a show or something, fuckin’ Mr. Hollywood?_ ” It’s so good to hear Eddie voice on the other line.

“Yeah, Eddie,” Richie replies sarcastically, “I’m in the middle of a show right now, texting you, giving you shit about being too much of a pussy to come visit me.”

_“Fuck you, dude. You’re the one bailing on the reunions.”_

And yeah, he has to give him that one.

“Next time, Eds,” he bites his lip and closes his eyes, just enjoying listening to Eddie’s breathing on the other line. But he’s quiet now. He’s too quiet. And he knows that means something is up.

Richie feels a wave of panic hit. Maybe he’s going to tell him Myra’s fucking pregnant. The thought hurts more than he realizes it could, because despite how foolish it is to have hope that Eddie would ever leave Myra, he had it. But a child isn’t something Eddie could leave behind. He holds his breath, waiting for Eddie to drop the bomb.

 _“Hey, is everything okay between us?”_ He asks carefully.

And Richie wants to cry. In the months since he’s left Derry he’s gained his family back but he feels more lonely than ever, which he didn’t even know was fucking possible with how miserable he was on tour. Memories of Eddie as a kid, and his death in the Deadlights, and the hospital, and as he confessed his feelings, all play out over and over in Richie’s mind. He feels possessed by them. So he works as hard as he can to keep busy. To keep his mind off of him.

“Of course, Eddie,” he lies. “What are you talking about?” Richie tries to play it cool, but his heart is hammering in his chest waiting to be called out. 

_“I just don’t want to be the reason you’re not coming, man. I really miss you, Rich.”_

“No,” Richie fights the heavy feeling in his chest, “No, I know. I’ve just been busy.”

_“Myra and I have tickets for the film festival.”_

“Shit. Really?” Richie tenses up. “How’d you talk the Ball Buster into going?”

Eddie laughs, but then says, _“Shut the fuck up, dude. It’s part of our couples therapy. We’re compromising interests.”_

Richie furrows his brow, “How’s that?”

_“She’s making me see some high-brow, emotional art film, no offense, and I get to see my buddy Richie.”_

“Oh, so I’m like your dirty little secret now? You’re _allowed_ to see me as a _compromise?_ I see how it is. Does she know you’re talking to me right now, Eddie?” He means it as a joke but the silence on the other end is too deafening. So he quickly adds, “And it’s not _that_ high-brow, dude.”

_“Richie, there’s Oscar buzz around this thing. It fucking is.”_

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Richie shakes his head. “Do you know how low budget this was?”

_“You should hear how people are talking about you, man. It’s like full out water cooler gossip. I hear people at work, a fucking insurance company, talking about you and your performance and shit. Do you go full-frontal or something?”_

“Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you Eds? Look man, you want to see my nudes all you gotta do is ask.”

Eddie laughs on the other end then asks nervously, _“You don’t do you?”_

“No!” Richie rolls his eyes. “You might see my ass, though. Fair warning.”

 _“Shit,”_ Eddie breathes.

“Oh, and Ryan flashes peen, sort of.” Richie adds quickly, “Maybe you should sit this one out, dude. You don’t have to go just because I’m in it. Like you said, it’s just some artsy bullshit. It’s totally okay for you to skip it. Especially, if it’s gonna make you think of me in a different way.”

He’s not saying what he really wants to and he knows he’s being a coward again. 

_“Are you gonna come out after this?”_ Eddie asks, frankly.

Richie sighs, “I don’t know, man. I _want_ to. But this industry and everything- I’m just looking for the right time. If my manager knew he’d want to time it with the limited theatrical release. But, I just don’t want to be used like that, you know?”

 _“Yeah,”_ Eddie says sadly, _“Yeah, I know what you mean.”_

Richie listens as he takes a deep breath on the other line. Eddie is still the only person who knows and in that moment he feels so relieved to have him. It doesn't feel so overwhelming like when he was carrying it on his own. Especially because Eddie's never treated him differently for it. 

“Well anyway, Eds. I hope you enjoy watching me get my cock sucked by a dude on a thirty foot tall screen. It’s the only way they could fit my whole dick on there.”

 _“Thought you said you didn’t go full-frontal?”_ Eddie quips.

Richie laughs, “Fuck you, dude.”

Eddie’s hushed laughter on the other end eases the nervousness in his heart. They say goodbye and Richie only feels a little guilty about not making the last reunion in Chicago. He promises to himself that he’ll go to the next one, and he means it.

* * *

People like the movie.

They _really_ like the movie.

Headlines, tweets, and posts all rave about Richie’s performance. The film is going to be rushed into a full nationwide release and Richie doesn’t know how the fuck to handle the unexpected praise. He’d gone from frat-bro dick jokester to cultivated _artiste_ in less than a year and there were honest-to-fuck rumors from verifiable sources about the Academy Awards.

The recognition makes him sick knowing he still has ‘coming out’ on the back burner. The praise for such a gritty, emotional role, while he holds onto childhood fears and shame, makes him feel like a liar. He _is_ a liar. Despite the praise, there are vocal groups that bash the film for the role going to another straight man in Hollywood, and he can’t blame them for that. But pressure only adds to his guilt.

Everyone in the Losers Club sees the film, which makes him feel a little weird. They know him better than anyone, but besides Eddie they still don’t _know._ And now they’ve all watched and complimented his performance, he pretends to ignore that it all happens to take place _with a man._ He tries to push it out of his mind that they’ve seen him like that, being fucked on the big screen. He worries that they might suspect something after seeing the movie. Despite those fears, they all message him their congratulations and compliment him on a job well done.

The praise means more than he realizes it could. They support him and care about him. He promises again to himself to make the next meetup. And he truly will.

Eddie is the only one he hasn’t heard from and is the most nervous to. When his phone finally rings and he sees his name illuminated, he only freezes a moment before answering.

 _“You busy?”_ Eddie asks.

“Never too busy for you, Eds,” he takes a deep breath and sits on his bed.

_“Unless you’re ditchin’ us to shoot some indie bullshit.”_

Richie takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the criticism, “You hated it? It’s okay. You can tell me. Be honest.”

Eddie laughs, _“I wanted to tell you it was the most pretentious piece of shit I’ve ever seen, but Richie, it was really good, man. I think Myra even liked it. You were, like, really fucking good. Congratulations, buddy.”_

“Jeez, high praise if the Control Freak says it’s good.”

_“Seriously, dude. I’m proud of you.”_

And it shouldn’t be enough to make Richie’s eyes tear up, but they do, “Thanks, man.”

Eddie pauses, and it’s too long and awkward. Richie’s about to speak before Eddie finally asks, _“So, how’d they film the sex scenes?_ ”

He huffs a laugh, “You jealous, Eds?” This path leads to masochism, and Richie knows better than to tease Eddie about it, but there’s a small part of him that hopes he could be. “You Kaspbraks will always be number one in my heart. Don’t worry about that, baby.” He winks, even though he knows Eddie can’t see.

Eddie ignores the teasing to ask, _“You really had to, you know, just grab those guys’ dicks like that? In front of everyone?”_

Richie freezes. Eddie sounds serious. He’s _actually_ curious, “No, you idiot. They use, like, these prosthetic dildos. It wasn’t a fuckin’ porno. You know how movies work, right?”

_“I don’t know, man. You just looked very convincing.”_

“Guess that’s why I’m gonna win me an Oscar. Just put this horny dude next to a bunch of dicks and watch the magic happen.” He laughs, but Eddie doesn’t join in. So he continues, “It was just a few scenes. Just acting, man. There’s like, fifty people on set watching the whole thing. Telling you where to put your leg, how to pause, how to frame the other actors, where to put your arm. Then when you have it perfected, your hair is in your face and someone is running back in to fix it for continuity. It’s a pain in the ass, and not because of all the anal.”

Eddie still isn’t laughing, and Richie bites his bottom lip nervously trying not to panic when Eddie finally says, _“This is gonna sound weird, but when I watched it I just kept thinking about us as kids. And all the times you used to call me cute. I thought you were being a dick at the time, but you still kind of do it, you know. You hit on me the same way you did then. Is it just habit or is it something else, Richie?”_

_Shit. Fuck._

But Richie thinks, fuck it. “You want the truth?” He takes a breath, “Last time I saw you I told you I’d let you destroy my throat with your Fun Sized dick. And I stand by that.”

_“‘Fun Sized?!’ What the fuck, asshole!”_

Finally getting a response out of him, Richie laughs more at ease, “Yeah, I mean, it’s proportional to the rest of you, right? I’m sure it’s just as cute.”

_“Oh, fuck you, Richie.”_

Richie uses an effeminate voice to retort, _“Not with that little dick, honey._ ”

_“I fuck you with this ‘little dick’ and you won’t be walkin’ the next day. You couldn’t handle it, Rich. It’s like a fucking beer can.”_

Richie smiles into the phone, “Think I’d need to see it to believe it, Little Eds.”

_“Fuck you.”_

“All talk,” Richie’s giggling at Eddie’s complete abhorrence and repeats, “All talk, man.” And he can’t believe they’re actually joking about the size of Eddie’s dick.

 _“Fuck you, ‘all talk.’”_

Richie can practically see his eyes squinting as he points up at him. “You’re so easy to rile up, Eddie,” Richie’s holding his sides, laughing into the phone as Eddie mumbles to himself on the other line. “God, I love it,” Richie continues, “I just fucking love it. So tense and angry. It’s always so cute coming out of you.”

_“Oh, yeah, you think it’s cute? How’s that for cute, asshole!”_

Richie is about to ask what the hell he’s talking about when he hears the notification tone in his ear. He looks at his phone to see Eddie has sent him a picture.

“Jesus, shit,” Richie swears, suddenly breathless. 

It’s a picture of Eddie’s very hard dick.

 _“I told you! I fuckin’ told you, dude,"_ Eddie gloats.

But Richie is stunned, and suddenly very turned on. His hand moves to absently hold down his dick over his pants, “You- uh, you’re really goin’ hard proving your point here, Ed.” 

Eddie is quiet on the other line.

“Eddie?” Richie tries again carefully. He knows he’s probably panicking, realizing what he did, so Richie tries to ease his nerves, “I guess you were right, though. Standing invitation to bend me over with that thing anytime you want.” It’s a joke. He thinks it’s pretty clear that it’s a joke. But then he asks a little too softly, “I can keep this for my spank bank, right?’

 _“You’d jerk off to that?”_ Eddie practically whispers, _“To me?”_

And Richie laughs quietly, “Sorry to burst your bubble, Eds, but I’ve been jerkin’ off to the _idea_ of you since the first time I touched my dick. So, this is like, jackpot.” He clarifies, “Literally like, _jackoff_ -pot.” 

And it’s finally too much. He has to unzip his pants. He keeps pulling the phone away to look at the picture and Eddie’s cock is fucking gorgeous. And thick. If anyone should have been making big dick jokes all these years, it’s Eddie. Then again, this thing isn’t a joke. Richie’s mouth is watering just imagining wrapping his lips around it. 

“Fuck, Eds,” he moans on accident as he grips himself. He knows he should panic but Eddie fucking Kaspbrak just sent him a picture of his hard cock and all Richie’s teenage dreams came true. He hears Eddie breathing heavily when Richie says, “Jesus, how did that fit inside your little shorts, Eddie? You want to bend me over with it, I’m game. Anytime.”

Eddie’s breath hitches and Richie suddenly wonders if he’s stroking himself too. 

“God,” Richie confesses, imagining he is, “Eddie, you could fucking destroy me and I’d love every second.” He pulls his phone away to look at it again, and can hardly believe that Eddie would do that. That he got himself hard while talking to Richie. That he is probably still fucking hard. “I wouldn’t be able to take all of it. You’d have to work me open, and god you’re so fuckin’ right, I’d ache for days.”

He hears Eddie swear, breathless on the other line, and now Richie knows, _he knows_ he’s touching himself too. His heart is pounding and he half wonders if it's all a dream. If he never left the Deadlights and this is his afterlife. And he’d gladly fucking stay here forever.

“You know my mouth watered at the sight of that, Eds? I want to taste you so bad. I imagine the weight of your cock on my tongue, sliding in and out between my lips.” Richie closes his eyes and concentrates on Eddie’s faint moans. “I could never get it down my throat, but fuck, I’ll try. And when you’re sick of my mouth you can use the rest of me anyway you want. And if you don’t know what you want, then I can show you.”

His thumb grazes over the tip of his cock, smearing precome, he hisses and continues, “Eddie, I want to open you up so slowly. I’d use my tongue on you, Eds.”

 _“That’s so dirty,”_ Eddie barely whispers, but he doesn’t sound disgusted, and Richie nearly comes.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “ _So_ fuckin’ dirty, Eddie.” He spits on his hand and starts stroking himself faster. “I’d get my tongue inside you, get you loose, and wet, and so fuckin’ hard for me. Fuck you with it until you were begging for my cock. And fuck, it wouldn’t take long, because the taste of you would nearly be enough to make me come.”

Richie speeds up his rhythm as he hears Eddie panting on the line. 

“By the time I’m sliding into you, you’ll already be a wreck. Shaking in my hands, begging for it. Begging me to make you come while riding my dick.” Richie is close, he’s so fuckin close but he doesn’t want it to end. “You’d look so beautiful on the end of my cock, Eddie. God, please, Eds-”

He can’t think anymore. Eddie’s heavy breaths in his ear and the sight of his cock in mind are too much. And Richie can hardly stand that it’s real. He’s coming with the image of Eddie’s hard cock burning in his mind, and to the hitched breathy moans through the line. 

And when he’s done, he opens his eyes to see the mess in front of him and he barely minds it. 

It takes a minute before he hears the breathing on the other side return to normal, then begin to speed up again. 

This is a sound he is familiar with. Eddie is panicking. “Uh, Eds?” Richie tries, not knowing what he expects. 

_“I gotta go,”_ he hears quickly before the line is dead.

_Well, fuck._

* * *

“So, last time you were here you were promoting your tour, but now you’re back!”

“Yeah, you can’t get rid of me!” Richie waves awkwardly to the audience whose cheer is nearly deafening. And all he’s wondering is when the fuck this became his life. People used to recognize him occasionally, sure, but he could step outside without anyone asking for an autograph. That was becoming exceedingly rare thanks to the movie.

“This film is blowing up!”

“Yeah, believe me, I’m more shocked than anymore,” Richie laughs.

“But you’re fantastic in this. Both critics and box office seem to agree on this one. This is such an emotionally touching story.” Conan addresses the audience, “If you’re not crying by the end of it then you’re a heartless robot.”

“Yeah, it’s the ultimate litmus test for human emotions and sentient life,” Richie tries to keep it light.

“And you’ve brought a clip with you today.”

“Yeah, I think this is one of the opening scenes where I’m on a bus and I’m remembering a party.”

“Let’s take a look at Richie Tozier in, _The Boy Who Loves You_ ,” Conan says.

The clip begins and the screen fades from black to Richie, without his trademark glasses, sitting on a bus, looking out the window. Rain falls, streaking long trails down the glass. It’s solemn and there’s a blue filter over the camera lens making everything appear cold as his voice begins narration. It’s softer than his usual speaking voice and there’s a sadness to it that’s mournful.  
  
“ _So you say you want a deathbed scene, the knowledge that comes before knowledge.”_

He stands from the bus, shuffling to the front, and it cuts to him leaving. The doors close behind him and it drives off. 

“ _And you want it dirty.”_ His voice continues over the action of curling in on himself as he walks down an empty sidewalk, hands jammed in his pocket and shoulders tense as the rain continues to fall.

There’s a flash cut of a party scene. Warm lighting and silent laughter as he’s holding a drink, but his voice is cold as it cuts back to Richie walking in the rain, _“And no one can ever figure out what you want.”_ Another flash to the party. Richie’s falling against a man in a hallway, appearing to laugh but there’s only silence and his narration, _“and you won't tell them.”_

The scene cuts and he’s at his apartment taking off his wet jacket. “ _And you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn't the one you thought it would be.”_ He sits to remove his shoes. _“And you don't trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.”_

The party is back again, and Richie is smiling against the man’s mouth. Then they’re kissing, showing the other man’s tongue dipping into his, and they stumble into a bedroom as his morose voice is juxtaposed over the scene, _“And the boy who loves you the wrong way is filthy. And the boy who loves you the wrong way keeps weakening.”_

The scene cuts back to Richie hanging his head low then fades to black.

_“You thought if you handed over your body he'd do something interesting.”_

The clip is over and Richie is nervously smiling and biting his bottom lip on the seat next to Conan. He hates watching himself, especially when he’s kissing a man because what if they know? What if they all see it and they just _know?_ But he reminds himself that was part of why he did it in the first place, so he pushes his anxiety down. The audience is applauding, but there’s still a sick feeling in his stomach like he’s exposed too much of himself. He isn’t embarrassed, he’s scared, but he’s faced fears thousands of times worse than public embarrassment. So, he smiles.

“Wow!” Conan says.

Richie actually doesn’t know what to say so he waits. 

And Conan continues, “Wow! Powerful, man. Congratulations!”

“Aw, thank you,” Richie accepts the praise, but he still feels uncomfortable. Like he’s a fraud.

“Quite a bit different from the Richie Tozier we all know,” Conan adds.

“No, it just cuts too early. The next scene starts with a fart joke,” the audience laughs and he finally feels more at ease.

Conan laughs too, and says, “No, but seriously, this is really different from what we’re used to seeing from you. Not only the serious content matter but playing a gay man. Did you find that challenging?”

Richie’s been preparing for that question since he filmed the movie, “No, you know, it’s just like any other role. It’s all acting. Ryan Fredricks, the actor in that scene, he has very soft, pillowy lips,” he pauses for the audience's laughter, “So it wasn’t really work at all. They don’t warn you about the beard burn, though.”

The laughter grows, but his heart sinks. Faking straight is just another role and it’s growing old. So, he deflects quickly, “What was really challenging were the contacts I had to wear. I stick to glasses for a reason. Creeps me out to touch my eyes. So it was either that or acting blind.” 

They continue to talk. Conan asks all the right questions making windows to promote his projects. The questions slowly lead away from the film and Richie is finally feeling more at ease knowing the interview is almost done. 

* * *

He hasn’t heard from Eddie in weeks. That’s not entirely unusual but the silence seems intentional and deafening after what happened between them.

In the group chat with the rest of the gang they continue to send messages of congratulations when they catch Richie in an interview promoting the film. With love, he tells them to fuck off, but the support means more than he’ll admit to any of them.

Eddie leaves the group messages on read, which kills Richie but he doesn’t say anything.

He wants to reach out to him. He wants to text him and see if they’re still okay. But he can’t. He doesn’t know what to say. 

_Hey, I had a lot of fun jerking off with you… if you ever want to do it again I promise it won’t take long._

He scoffs at himself.

When he’s alone and horny, he’s terrified to open _The Picture,_ but he does it anyway. Eddie never told him to delete it. He knows he probably should. But anytime his finger hovers over the little trash can icon, he can’t do it. And he only hates himself a little for jerking off to it.

The film is continuing to do better than anyone expected with the national release. Richie thought it would fade into obscurity, but people are hitting theaters to see his drastic change in performance. His old fans aren’t happy about the new direction, definitely not now that he’s _playing a fuckin faggot,_ as Twitter reminds him. But that was expected and he honestly doesn’t give a single fuck about it. 

With the film he’s finding a new audience. His numbers on social media are increasing too fucking fast, which Jason assures him is good, but the whole thing kind of freaks him out.

He knows the fame will pass if he waits it out, but he just can’t seem to stay out of the headlines. First with Bowers and now with the film. It’s increasingly more difficult to be outside without photographers on him, even for the most mundane of tasks. And the loneliness of always coming home to an empty house doesn’t help.

It’s late when he finally gets the text alert he’s been waiting for. He’s not expecting it. He’s not expecting Eddie’s name to pop up on his phone while he’s lying in bed, trying to will himself to pass out.

It’s stupid how much his hands shake as he fumbles to open the message.

_Eddie: Did you keep it?_

That’s all it says.

Richie knows immediately he means the picture. He replies quickly, afraid Eddie will stop talking if he waits too long. 

_Richie: Do you want me to delete it?_

The reply is almost instant.

_Eddie: Do you still think about fucking me?_

And Richie wonders if he’s drunk. He wonders what Eddie wants to hear, if he should deny it or if he wants the truth. So far Eddie’s the only person he’s been able to give the truth to and he doesn’t want to start lying to him now.

He rubs his face, not sure if he’s trying to wake himself up or check to see if he’s dreaming. 

_Richie: All the fucking time._ _  
_  
The admission should be more painful than it is but he can barely go five minutes without wondering what Eddie’s doing and why he isn't with him. Wishing he was.

 _Eddie: I went to your movie again. Without Myra. First thing I did when I got home was jerk off._  
  
“Fuck,” Richie sighs, and his hand is already on his aching cock. A Pavlovian response from the moment he saw Eddie’s message. He starts typing but deletes everything. How the hell is he supposed to respond to that? He’s about to send the message, “ _Yeah, I can see the appeal. Ryan’s a stud,”_ when Eddie replies.

 _Eddie: It’s not fair you have one of me and I don’t have one of you. Makes me wonder if all those dick jokes are just talk._

They are. He’s perfectly average but who doesn’t love a good dick joke? 

_Eddie: Give me something to sell to TMZ._

And fuck, that’s hot. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. He reads it again and it goes straight to his dick. His cock throbs in his hand as he imagines giving Eddie the power to destroy his career. 

He wants to play along and tell him TMZ can suck it. Better yet, _Eddie_ can suck it. But then he’s imagining Eddie’s mouth wrapped around his dick and he has to take himself out of his pajama bottoms. He closes the messages and opens _The Picture_ on his phone. He pulls himself off at the sight of it. 

Right before he comes he hits record on his phone. Then he’s panting, stroking himself almost too hard through it, thinking only of Eddie who has been jerking off to thoughts of _him_ and wants to see his dick.

It’s only fair after all.

By the time he hits record and finishes the video is only twenty seconds long, but he sends it before he has time to back down. Then he turns his phone over and freaks the fuck out. He cleans himself up and goes to grab a drink of water. Purposefully leaving his phone behind. 

His bare feet are cold on the floor but he’s only thinking about Eddie as he walks through his house. When he gets back to his room, he takes a deep breath and turns the phone over to find a message waiting for him. Holding his breath, he opens it and finds a video in return. He hits play without thinking and watches Eddie’s dick being stroked through his own orgasm. He can hear his breathy gasps, and if he were a younger man he’d be hard again, watching the jizz leak from Eddie’s wet tip. His thumb gently massages the head and Richie would do anything to be the one doing that for him.

“Fuck,” Richie swears to himself. 

_Richie: You asshole. I could have used that to jerk off._

He doesn’t know what the hell is happening between them, but he smiles to himself when he sees Eddie’s response.

 _Eddie: Next time._

Richie doesn’t reply, he doesn’t know what to say. He tells himself that he’s not waiting for another message, but he ends up staying up too late half listening for another alert noise. It never comes so he decides to file the memory away and let it just be something that happened between them. In the safety of their own homes it’s easy to push it aside like it was nothing. 

And maybe to Eddie it _was_ nothing. 

Richie doesn’t know what the fuck to think of it. Maybe this is just some juvenile game? A way to get off with a little added excitement knowing that Richie would be into it too. So he suffocates any hope bubbling up to the surface because there’s really nothing more to it than that.


	3. Chapter 3

Richie wins a lead co-starring role in an action rom-com for a big studio. He may be inundated with the choice of projects but he’s not ready to claim he has integrity just yet. The script is funny, he knows the director, and the number he’s taking to the bank is stupid high, so he can’t turn it down.

And whatever the fuck is happening between him and Eddie continues. It starts slow. Eddie will call while he’s in his trailer at the studio to bitch about something mundane; the weather, or the traffic, or the fucking cost of heating in New York. And Richie’s on edge, not knowing if he should bring it up. How the hell would he? Does he just ask,  _ Hey, what the hell is going on between us?  _ Or  _ Aren’t you fucking married… to a woman? _ But he’s always too chicken shit.

Instead, eventually Eddie asks, “Are you alone?” 

And Richie knows what he’s really saying is...

_ You wanna fuck around? _

_ You still want me to fuck you? _

_ Tell me how much you want my cock. _

Once a week he gets a call where they talk themselves through orgasms. Eventually Eddie even stops hanging up on him immediately after it happens. When he stays on the line and asks Richie how the shoot’s going, or what’s the latest gossip on his co-lead, it’s a huge relief. They talk again. And lot. About everything, and Derry too. Too much, in Richie’s opinion, but memories still filter in and they enjoy reliving the better parts of their adolescence together. For the first time, probably since he left his hometown, Richie doesn’t feel so lonely.

They still haven’t seen each other in person since the day Eddie left the hospital. When the next  _ Losers  _ reunion pops up at a genuinely inconvenient time, Richie legitimately can’t make it because of the shoot. He’s not disappointed, though, despite promising himself he’d finally attend. Richie is terrified of whatever is happening between them and if seeing Eddie in person would make it too real, make him realize that’s he’s fucking around on his wife, it would kill Richie a little inside. Talking to Eddie has been one of his only lifelines the past few months. He knows it’s something he doesn’t want to live without.

So, he tries not to think about Myra and Eddie never brings her up.

In the meantime, with early mornings and late nights, he’s too busy filming to spend his time worrying about what the fuck they’re doing.

His manager pushes him to post more frequently on social media, and the studio requires it in his contract. So he reluctantly starts using Twitter for the better of his rejected jokes and instagram for pictures from the set. Cozy images of him and his co-star, Amelia Brendan, a blonde Hollywood-nine at least fifteen years his junior, are reposted across the internet with the gossip of an on-set romance. 

Richie still hasn’t come out and he hates that it’s something he even has to consider. Like he’s hiding it. And yeah, in the past that’s exactly what he had done. But it really isn’t anyone’s business and he hates that an announcement is expected in order to ease the guilt of his mind.

The response he’s gotten from  _ The Boy Who Loves You _ has been overwhelmingly supportive. He feels like he could do it. He could actually come out and no one would give a fuck. But anytime he almost gathers enough courage to bring it up to Jason he remembers Bowers and stupid fucking Pennywise and the stupid fucking contract with the studio. So he bites his tongue and swallows down any confession he was going to make.

And, despite fucking around with Eddie on the phone, it’s not like he is actually dating anyone anyway. So who the hell even cares that  _ if _ he were to date he’d only be seeing men? 

He thinks about it sometimes when he sees someone pass by on set, an extra or a hot PA. But the thought of someone who isn’t Eddie makes him sick, so he pushes the whole idea of dating and coming out aside for another day.

Except for now the whole world is convinced he’s fucking his co-star. And he’s encouraging it. And  _ she’s _ encouraging it to ride his sudden and unexpected fame. He doesn’t really blame  _ her _ , it’s the game of Hollywood, afterall, and they’re both playing

But when even Eddie starts to wonder, Richie finally gets annoyed. He’s the _ one _ person who knows how much he loves cock, which he tells him about in detail fairly regularly, and even Eddie is questioning him.

While he’s in his trailer he posts the latest picture. Richie is sitting and Amelia is behind him with her arms draped around his neck. Both have wide smiles flashing white teeth for the selfie he takes. And not long after it’s up he gets a call from Eddie.

_ “Why the hell haven’t you come out?” _ His tone is accusatory.

“Well, hello to you too, Eds,” Richie grabs a beer from his mini fridge and sits at the table, flipping through the script for the next scene. “How are you on this lovely day?”

_ “It’s snowing here,” _ he sounds crabby.

It makes Richie smile. He can practically see his cantankerous ass pouting and Richie lives for it.

“Well, it’s _ beautiful  _ here. Thanks, global warming. Maybe you should come visit.”

Eddie ignores him.  _ “How come you haven’t come out?” _ He repeats impatiently.

Richie furrows his brow, “I don’t know, it's not the right time. The studio would freakin’ kill me. They’re pushing this stupid set-romance bullshit.” And then it hits him, “Are you jealous?” He smiles wide and teases, “You are! You’re jealous.”

_ “I’m not fucking jealous, asshole,” _ Eddie insists.

“You are. Oh my god, I can’t believe you bought it.  _ You _ of all people. That’s cute, Eds. I kind of like you all possessive. It’s hot.”

_ “Fuck you, dude,” _ he says, but doesn’t deny it again.

“What the hell, though? Like,  _ obviously _ I’m not fucking her.”

_ “How the hell do I know that?” _

And Richie stares blankly ahead of him, “Maybe because you know what gets me hot and you know for a fuckin’ fact  _ it ain’t _ pussy.” He’s starting to get angry now. Even though they’d been getting each other off for about two months, and Richie doesn’t know what the hell that makes them, it seemed  _ pretty _ clear that he wasn’t into vag, at the very least.

_ “You’ve had sex with women before, right? How do I know you’re not doing it again?” _ Eddie’s voice is almost near panic.

And Richie’s pissed now, “Who the fuck do you think you are, Eddie? You’re fucking married, okay? You’re  _ married _ . So why the fuck do you give a shit  _ who _ I’m doing?” He regrets it as soon as he says it but Eddie is being a bitch and Richie isn’t about to let him own his ass when he couldn’t even admit that maybe,  _ maybe  _ he wasn’t exactly straight either. “We fuck around on the phone, okay? The fucking  _ phone. _ That’s  _ it. _ If you ever get the balls to come here in person then maybe you can plant your flag and lay claim to my dick, but for all I know this is just something you do when you’re bored and want to rebel against your wife. Something to make you feel like you’re in control when you’re clearly not. Maybe it’s just an ego boost because you know I fuckin’ worship your ass and you like having that at your finger tips whenever it’s convenient for you, but you’re too fucking afraid to follow through in person. And fuck you for using me like that, by the way.”

_ “You’re the one skipping the reunions, Richie. Not me!” _

And fuck, that one actually hurts because it’s true.

There is a sharp knock on the door of his trailer. Richie stands up and flings the door open, “What?!” The PA is looking up at him wide-eyed, he thinks her name is Vanessa. 

“Sorry, I can tell you’re busy but there are some rewrites and they need you on set.” She hands him new pages.

“Fuck,” Richie sighs, “I’ll be there in five.”

The PA scutters away and Richie sulks himself back into the trailer.

“And another thing,” he says quietly into the phone, “As much as I fucking hate her, it’s a pretty asshole move, what you’re doing to Myra, man. It’s low.”

He listens to Eddie breathing. There’s a pause before he says,  _ “We got a divorce.” _

Richie freezes.

Those four words are euphoria to his ears. He’s still angry but it’s quickly dissipating because this is important new information. Those words are perfection and beauty and Richie wants to cry because he never allowed himself to dream of hearing them. 

“What did you say?” He asks softly, just to be sure.

_ “We got a divorce." _

Richie pumps his fist in the air, a quiet celebration. Then he schools his face, and tries his hardest to sound sincere, “Aw, I’m sorry, man.”

_ “Yeah, fuck you, Richie. You hated her.” _

“That’s true, but obviously she did something for you or you wouldn’t have stayed as long as you did.” Richie has to fight his smile, “Do you want to talk about it?”

_ “Not right now. Obviously, you’re busy.” _

And he is, he really fucking is.

“Call me tonight.” Richie says.

_ “You’re not fucking her, though?” _ Eddie asks.

And Richie’s confused again, “Amelia? Fuck no.” His heart races but he says quickly, “You and my right hand are the only action I’m seeing.” He pauses then adds, “My left hand when I decide to get kinky.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh but Richie does hear a sigh of relief,  _ “Yeah, okay. We’ll talk tonight. When are you done?” _

“I probably won’t get home until around, ah, 2:00 A.M.”

_ “That’s perfect.” _

“That’s like, fuckin’, 5:00 A.M. for you, dude.” 

_ “It’s fine, Rich. I’ll talk to you then,” _ Eddie hangs up.

Richie marinates in the range of emotions he’s just experienced so close together. The rage. The elation. 

Eddie fuckin’ Kaspbrak, the guy he’s been in love with since he could remember, got a fucking divorce.

He leaves his trailer with a smile, thinking vaguely that he should find the PA he scared off and apologise for being a dick.

* * *

It’s around 2:00 AM, just like he said, before he gets home. And maybe he had to hurry some things along to ensure he’d be home on time, but he was excited to talk to Eddie and wanted to do so from the comfort of his bedroom.

He’s pretending that he’s not staring at his phone and he doesn’t want to call Eddie in case he’s changed his mind and fallen asleep, but he’s impatient to hear his voice. All day he’d been thinking about it. Eddie  _ isn’t _ married and Richie needs to know everything. There’s a very large part of himself that hopes  _ he’s _ the reason for it. But that nagging doubt creeps in. Eddie and Myra had problems before he was in the picture. He witnessed their fighting enough in the hospital to know it was toxic. 

Then again, anyone who saw  _ him _ talk to Eddie probably wouldn’t think they were much better. 

The phone rings and he answers immediately, “Hey, Eds.”

_ “Let me in, dude.” _

Richie furrows his brow, “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

_ “I’m here. Tell your security guard he can let me past the gate.” _

_ Fuck. _

“You’re  _ here?! _ In California?”

_ “Yeah, dipshit. Now let me in.” _

“Uh, yeah. Okay. Just- I have to call down there so-”

_ “Okay, bye,” _ and Eddie hangs up.

“What the fuck?” He swears to himself.

Richie jumps from his bed and looks into the mirror. He’s a fucking mess. He hasn’t showered. He probably still has makeup on from set. And Eddie is at the gate waiting to be let in.

“Fuck,” he breaths again. He searches through his phone to find the number to the security gate.

_ “Security,” _ the man answers.

“Yeah, this is Richie Tozier. My friend Eddie says he’s here. Edward Kaspbrak. You can let him in.”

_ “Of course, Mr. Tozier.” _

Richie hangs up and runs into his closet looking for anything nicer than what he’s wearing but still casual enough to make it seem like he doesn’t give a fuck. He keeps his pajama pants on but throws on a black T-shirt and runs into the bathroom to wash his face. He scrubs quickly making sure the leftover makeup is fully gone, then decides to brush his teeth. He dries his face with a towel then sprays cologne, feeling like a mad man. He takes a deep breath and looks in the mirror. 

“Fuck,” he sighs. He feels like a fucking idiot and his heart his racing. Richie takes another breath then practically runs to his front door.

Standing there awkwardly, he fidgets with his pajama pants until he finally sees headlights turning into his driveway. Then Eddie is parking his fucking car and getting out and walking towards him as Richie tries not to lose his shit.

He opens the door before Eddie’s barely set foot on the stairs. Calling on whatever skills he’s learned from acting, he puts on his warmest voice, enough to overcome the nerves he has bubbling to the surface, “Hey, man. When I said I wanted to talk tonight I didn’t think you’d show up at my fucking house.” 

Eddie stares at him, “Shit. This was fucking stupid right?”

“No!” Richie says quickly, losing his calm facade. “I told you, standing invitation. You should have visited months ago, asshole. I’m just surprised you’re here.”

“Fuck, this was stupid,” Eddie’s shoulders drop.

“No! Where are your bags? You’re staying.”

“They’re in the car.”

“Can I get them in one trip or-”

“I’m not a fucking invalid,” Eddie turns around with keys still in hand.

Richie hurries after him, “Last time I saw you, you could barely walk.”

“Obviously I got better, dipshit.” He’s opening the car door and shoving bags at Richie, “Take that.”

“How many did you bring? Fuck.” But he wants to ask,  _ How long are you staying? _

Once they haul everything inside they leave them in the foyer as Richie leads him into the kitchen, “Do you want a drink or something? Are you hungry?”

“Jesus Christ, this is like a fuckin’ mansion,” Eddie’s practically spinning around, trying to see everything, “What the fuck?” 

“It’s not  _ that _ big,” Richie opens the fridge to hide his face.

“Yeah, that’s what I said about your dick.” 

Richie’s hand slips and he pushes his face further into the fridge. It’s obvious Eddie is just mouthing back but it reminds Richie of everything they’ve done and he’s pretty sure he’s blushing. 

But Eddie continues without realizing Richie’s being weird, “You have a fucking security guard, man.”

“He’s not  _ my _ security guard. He’s the neighborhood’s security guard.”

“Yeah, in a neighborhood of a bunch of fuckin’ mansions.”

Richie doesn’t know what to say to that. It  _ is _ a mansion compared to where they grew up. It’s more spacious than he really needs, but it’s not extravagant compared to most in the industry. 

It’s  _ roomy. _

He takes a final deep breath and closes the fridge door. “So, you’re finally here, man.” 

Eddie’s looking at him and Richie can finally see he’s just as nervous. “Uh, yeah.”

Richie wants to open the fridge again to hide but he stops himself. “Is there anything I can get you? You must be tired.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep on the plane. I’m pretty exhausted actually. Surprised I didn’t crash the rental.”

“Shit. Yeah, um, I have spare rooms here or there’s the guest house out back if you want that?”

“A fucking guest house? Jesus, no. Just give me the nearest room with a bed.”

They go back for Eddie’s bags and Richie gives him a short tour as he leads him to one of the extra bedrooms. Eddie collapses on the bed and Richie smiles at the sight. His heart clenches when he realizes yet again that Eddie’s in his fucking house. He told him he got divorced and just showed up at his fucking door.

Eddie mumbles, “Thanks, man.”

“Alright, Eds. I’ll be down the hall and awake for a bit if you need anything.”

Against all urges telling him to wrap Eddie in his arms, Richie turns from the room and leaves him alone. He ambles around his house, making sure everything is locked up and put away, then finally makes his way to his bedroom. The whole time trying not to freak the fuck out. 

As he gets under the covers he takes his phone out and lets the light from the screen wash over him in the dark. He has an overwhelming desire to text him. The thought of how well Eddie has healed hadn’t even occurred to him until now. He wasn’t limping or holding his stomach, he seems fine. He looks amazing, if not a little tired. And it hits him again, Eddie is right down the hall. 

But he still feels so far away. He wants to go back into the guest room and curl into him. Kiss him breathlessly. For a second, Richie almost does. But he doesn’t know where Eddie’s at or what he wants, or why the hell he’s even there. And both of them just pretended like they haven’t been routinely getting off with each other. 

And maybe that’s all it was. Maybe it’s just some normal guy thing that normal guys do when they’re going through their normal bad times? Call your best gay friend and get a self esteem boost with a jerk off session. 

As he thinks about it, Richie’s realising  _ he’s _ usually always the one talking Eddie through what he wants to do to him. Eddie’s never claimed he was gay. Or bi. Or whatever the golden configuration would be that could make it possible for him to actually  _ want _ Richie. Maybe this was just some crisis he was fighting through because of the divorce? Maybe he only liked how Richie made him feel desired?

Even though Eddie told him he left his wife and showed up at his house, for all Richie knows the gratuitous phone sex they’d been having fairly regularly is as far as he’d ever want to take it. Talking from the safety of his home isn’t the same as doing it, so Richie is definitely not going to go in there and molest him in his sleep.

He wants to though. So fucking bad.

He jumps when his text alert goes off.

_ Eddie: This is weird, right? _

Richie smiles.

_ Richie: So fuckin weird dude _

_ Eddie: I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep _

_ Richie: Get your ass in here _

He sets his phone down and listens intently down the hall. And, yeah, fine, maybe his house is kind of big, or maybe Eddie is trying to gather his courage, because it takes a while before he hears footsteps and he almost thinks he isn’t going to show. But then his door is opening and he sees Eddie’s silhouette standing across the room.

It’s dark, but he watches him shut the door and walk over to the bed.

“You’re house is so fucking big.”

Richie laughs as he sits up. He throws the cover open and pats on his bed.

Eddie climbs in then lays next to Richie, and there’s enough room between them that they don’t touch. “Dude, even your bed is huge.”

“Yeah, so there’s enough room for my huge dick.”

“I’ve seen your dick and it’s not that huge, dude.”

Richie laughs. He wonders if that means they’re talking about it. If either one is going to bring up the huge fucking elephant in the room. But he chickens out. 

“So, divorced?” Richie settles back into the bed. It’s easier to talk in the dark. He doesn’t have to look at Eddie but he can still hear his voice. It’s like being on the phone. It’s familiar.

“Yep.” 

“Did it just happen?” Richie asks.

Eddie sighs, “No. We finalized a couple months ago.”

And shit, Richie isn’t expecting that.  _ “Why _ didn’t you tell me?” It hurts. Everything else between them aside, it hurts that his best friend didn’t share that with him. It makes him realize that there’s probably a lot in Eddie’s life that he doesn’t know.

“I had to figure some shit out first. It’s not a big deal.”

“I think you getting a divorce is a pretty big fuckin’ deal,” he kind of mutters it. Then he adds, “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

“Yeah, me too. I’m not gonna fuck up your schedule or anything am I, Mr. Hot-Shot?”

“Fuck you,” Richie smiles. “No, I have to be on set by noon tomorrow so I can’t give you the tourist highlights, but I have a few days off soon after that. Maybe we could get the rest of the guys to come visit?”

“Yeah. Finally get your ass to a reunion.”

They’re quiet for a moment before Richie smiles in the dark. “Shit,” he starts laughing. “I can’t believe I forgot that.” That’s how it always starts when memories from Derry filter in while they talk.

“What?” Eddie asks.

And now Richie is laughing hard enough to shake the bed. “Fuck, do you remember-” his laughter interrupts him and he tries again, “Do you remember that song I used to sing to you?”

“Song? What song? What the hell are you talking about?” Eddie turns on his side to face Richie and he can feel his gaze.

“Oh, fuck,” he wipes his eyes, “I can’t believe I just remembered that. That song. You know, that song. That song. During sleepovers.”

“Sleepov- oh, fuck.” Eddie flips on his back. “Don’t you dare,” he points at Richie, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Richie, I swear to fuckin’ god, I’ll get back on a flight and go right the hell back to New York.”

“Eddie!” Richie’s stomach is beginning to hurt from laughing so hard.  _ “Dear Eddie Kaspbrak, I wrote to complain, you never wrote me back,” _ he puts on his best singsong cadence but he isn’t sure how intelligible it is through his laughter.

“No. Stop. Stop it, Richie,” Eddie’s crossing his arms defensively preparing himself for the attack.

Richie rolls on his side and reaches out for Eddie without thinking. Through laughter, he continues,  _ “How could I ever eat your ass when you treat your biggest fan like that?” _

“Stop!” Eddie’s slapping his hands away but he’s smiling now. “Stop, Richie! I mean it. We are grown adults!”

_ “You’ve had a lot of dick-” _ Richie’s trying to break through Eddie’s blocking grasp. When they were teens he’d tickle him. Any excuse to be near him, to touch him, and the memory is flooding back for them both.  _ “I’ve had a lot of time. You’ve had a lot of dick, Eddie. But you ain’t had mine!” _

“Okay, are you done? Are you done now? I swear to fucking god, if you don’t-”

Richie interrupts him as he sits up, putting on his best performance now,  _ “P.S. Mom and Dad this is Eddie. Eddie, this is my mom and dad.” _

“No! Stop! I’ll leave right the hell now! I’ll get on a plane, asshole!” But he’s laughing and Richie would kill to hear that laughter, so he doesn’t stop.

He swings a leg over Eddie, straddling him while Eddie tries to buck him off. Richie reaches for the hem of his shirt,  _ “Now show ‘em them titties!”  _

“Stop! Richie, stop!” Richie can feel Eddie’s body shaking with laughter beneath him.

_ “Now show ‘em them titties!” _ Richie repeats and he’s able to finally pull up Eddie’s shirt.

“Stop!” Eddie laughs.

Richie stops. 

Eddie’s shirt is pushed up and Richie sees it through the faint light in the room, the scars covering his abdomen. The memory hits him hard and fast and he remembers watching helplessly as Eddie was stabbed through the stomach by Pennywise.

“Eds,” it’s barely a whisper. He traces the toughened skin, feeling Eddie’s abs flutter as he maps the pattern. Richie’s chest aches and he can feel a lump in his throat as he remembers how close Eddie had come to dying. 

He’s waiting for Eddie to tell him to get off, but he doesn’t.

“Is it disgusting?” His voice is so soft. 

“No, you’re beautiful,” he says, and he means it. Those scars are evidence of his healed body and he’s never seen anything so perfect.

Eddie sits up and pushes his lips against Richie’s. It’s hard and desperate and it takes a moment for Richie to realize it’s even happening. But Eddie’s pushing his tongue into his mouth and Richie’s heart is racing. His hands find their way to the back of Eddie’s head and he’s holding him, licking into his mouth, recklessly. And as he pushes him back down to the bed, spreading himself over him, he can feel Eddie’s hard cock pressing back against his own. 

He gasps and pulls back enough to look at Eddie. To silently ask  _ Is this okay? _

Eddie is wild eyed, nodding back at him, and pulling at his shirt, kissing him again.

Richie wonders again if he died in that house and somehow he’d earned a happy afterlife, because Eddie shouldn’t be gasping his name and biting his bottom lip like he owns it. But he is. And he does. Richie will give him any damned thing he wants as long as he never stops touching him.

“Fuck, Eds. How are you here?”

Eddie pushes Richie away and scoffs, “An airplane, dipshit. Now take off your clothes.” And he’s grabbing the material of Richie’s shirt and pulling it up.

Richie thinks that sounds like a great idea, so he takes it off then helps by pulling Eddie’s pajama pants down. He frees his cock and Richie freezes. 

He’s stared at it so many times, he could pick that dick out of a line up. It isn’t as intimidating as the pictures and video made it seem, but he’s thick and hard and now Richie wonders if his cock has Deadlights of its own because he’s pretty sure he’s caught staring too long.

So he leans in and wraps his hand around his length and sighs, “Fucking, Eds. You’re so fucking hot. Christ.”

His mouth is on Eddie’s dick, happily licking up the length of him before his tongue laps over the tip. And  _ fuck _ his dick is in Richie’s mouth.

“Ww-wait wait-” Eddie sits up and stops him, “Should we use condoms?”

Richie’s hand is still gripped around his cock. “I haven’t had sex in- to be honest I can’t even tell you. A long fuckin’ time.”

He’s waiting for Eddie to tell him the same but Eddie is shrugging, “It’s- I’ve-”

But Richie doesn’t want to hear it but asks, “Like, penetration?”

“No, he just blew me.”

“ _ He,”  _ Richie lets go of his dick. He can feel himself falter but Eddie’s hand is quickly on Richie’s cock, and he’s stroking him, keeping him distracted and hard. 

“Statistically speaking, we should at least consider the pos-”

“If you want to wear a condom for a blowjob, that's fine. I don’t have any here because I’m a loser who never has sex, but I don’t mind if you’re not wearing one.”

Eddie seems like he wants to protest, but ultimately he doesn’t. And Richie is back on top of him, kissing down his cock, and tasting the salt of Eddie’s balls, all while trying to push out of his mind that he’s let another man do this to him.

He knew Eddie wasn’t a fucking virgin, of course he’s not, but he didn’t know that this was something Eddie had done. And with whom? Just some random guy? A fling? Or someone that mattered to him?

That thought hurt.

Richie grabs his dick with intention, as intimidating as it is, he guides it into his mouth again. He can’t get it down the full way, but he fucking tries, with his lips wrapped tight. If Eddie ever lets him do this again, he’ll keep trying. Again and again, as long as Eddie will let him. He’ll suck him off every night. And the muscles in his mouth are going to ache by the time he’s done, he fucking knows it, but it’ll just remind him that Eddie let him do it.

When he opens his eyes to watch, Eddie has his fist balled tight in the sheets. He’s arching back and pushing into Richie’s mouth, thrusting on his own, and Richie loves it, how filthy he looks fucking up into his mouth. 

Richie moans around him, and with his free hand he starts pulling himself off.

He won’t last long with Eddie’s dick filling his mouth, and knowing it’s _ Eddie _ he’s stroking, while sucking on the tip. His thighs tremble on the bed and he knows he’s close. He’s panting Richie’s name as he works Eddie through, feeling like he died when he finally tastes come, hot across his tongue as he swallows him down. Eddie’s chest is heaving and he’s swearing as Richie licks around the sensitive skin, savoring him like it might be the only time he is allowed to taste him. 

Richie is dizzy with the image of them together. Of how thoroughly debauched Eddie looks all because of his mouth. His _Trashmouth._ _He_ made Eddie look like that. And he’s close, so close to his own release, when Eddie leans up and watches him pull himself off and says, _“Next time_ you can eat my ass.”

And Richie half laughs at the song reference, but is mostly too incredibly turned on by the thought of Eddie spreading himself open and letting Richie tongue fuck him. The thought of it crashes into him, and he’s gasping Eddie’s name as he’s coming into his fist. 

After a few slow pulls, he blinks and realizes Eddie’s still watching him. He hasn’t left his bed, so all signs indicate things are fine, but Richie feels like any sudden movement might scare him off.

“I can’t believe you swallowed my jizz,” Eddie teases.

He thinks he’s teasing. Maybe he’s actually grossed out. But fuck, if that wasn’t Richie’s favorite part.

“You wanna return the favor?” Richie holds out his hand, and he  _ is _ teasing, so Eddie recoils. Richie jumps from the bed to go wash his hands (and brush his teeth again, just in case Eddie’s weird about that too). When he returns, Eddie seems comfortable, tucked under the blankets.

Richie climbs in. He gets closer than before, but not so close that they’re cuddling. 

“When you used to sing that song,” Eddie whispers, “You were serious.” It isn’t a question.

“Yeah, I was,” Richie admits, smiling sadly. “I only ever did it when we were alone. It was always just a stupid excuse to touch you. To get on top of you.”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment before he says, “I never noticed that. I just thought you were being a dick.”

“If I would have-” Richie doesn’t know why he starts, but now he can’t back down, “If I would have said something, you know,  _ back then _ , would you-” He doesn’t finish but Eddie seems to know what he’s asking.

“I don’t think so,” he’s sad when he says it. “I was too afraid. I already had too many targets on my back. I don’t think I would have been ready for you back then.”

“But you are now?” Richie tries to smile, but he feels it falter.

Eddie reaches for his hand. Intertwining their fingers, he replies, “I hope so.”

He doesn’t really know what that means, but Eddie is in his bed, holding his hand, and quickly falling asleep. As far as he’s concerned everything has worked out fine, at least for the night.

The next morning Richie’s alarm announces when it’s 9:00 AM. He turns it off quickly, still in awe that Eddie is still asleep and in  _ his _ bed. He tries to contain his excitement but doesn’t think he’s very successful.

By the time he’s ready to leave for the studio, he’s left notes for Eddie and numbers to call if he needs anything. He’s still sleeping when Richie leaves, and all he can think about is how he can’t wait for this day to be over so he can come back home to him.

He gets in trouble on set for having his phone on. The text alert noise interrupts the shot but Richie doesn’t mind when he sees they’re from Eddie. Mostly still giving him shit for the size of his house or the fact that he has a pool. But who doesn’t have a pool? It’s fucking California.

It’s a long shoot, but when he’s able to finally go home Richie is the most excited he can remember being about going to his own house. He stops at the security gate and tells them to keep  _ Eddie Kaspbrak _ on his list. Permanently. They tell him all he needs to do is give him the code, but Richie doesn’t want any confusion about him being allowed in, so they humor him and make a note of it. 

Then he drives home.

He’s nervous as he stands outside his own door, knowing Eddie’s somewhere on the other side. But he takes a deep breath and walks in. He doesn’t see him right away but the rental car is still in the driveway so he knows he’s around. Richie tries to appear nonchalant as he checks the rooms and reluctantly curses that maybe his place  _ is _ too big, right before he looks in the back and sees Eddie relaxing next to the pool. The sun set a while ago, and he thinks it’s far too cold to be out, but he supposes that compared to New York the weather’s nice enough. Eddie’s eyes are closed and he looks content. 

Richie walks closer, smiling he asks, “Enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, man. Your place is fucking amazing.”

“Ah, yes,” Richie puts on his best Pretentious British accent,  _ “Have the servants been tending to your every whim?” _

Eddie furrows his brow, “You don’t actually have ser-”

“No!” Richie interrupts, laughing. “I mean, a groundskeeper.” And then he bites his lip, “And a few maids. It’s just a cleaning service. It’s not like the house is fully staffed.”

“You’re a rich bastard,” Eddie smiles. “I’m proud of you, dude.”

And it warms his heart to hear Eddie say that. He teases back, “I tried to tell you, man. I said I’d pay for a team of nurses for your recovery.”

“I thought you were being a dick.”

“Well, I was,” Richie sits in the lounge chair next to him. “But I meant it too.” They’re both quiet for a moment, enjoying the night. Richie closes his eyes and says, “This is nice. I never get to spend any time out here.”

“Really? I’ve been out here all day. After I got done looking through all your shit, anyway.”

“Find anything good?”

“No, this place is almost clinical. Except-”

“My office,” Richie laughs. “Yeah, that’s where I spend the most time.” He looks Eddie over and can’t believe how at ease he is, “California looks good on you, man.”

“Yeah? Think so?”

Richie knows he’s probably shooting him a dopey smile, but he says, “Yeah, I do.”

Eddie takes a deep breath and says quietly, “I, uh, I quit my job.”

“What?!”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, are you going to expand on that or is that the end of the story? What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know, man. It was fucking stupid and I don’t know why I did it. But with New York and Myra and everything, I just wanted to be as far away as I could.”

Richie feels like he’s holding his breath, “You can stay here is as long as you want.”

“No, I don’t want to impose. You have your thing going on. You’re busy working. I just-” he bites his bottom lip before continuing, “I just needed to see you. You wouldn’t show up like everyone else. It’s been, like, a year and a half, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah. I had work.” But now Richie is excited, “No, man. I’m serious, though. Stay as long as you like. It’s not like I don’t have the space. And if you’re uncomfortable in the house you can always crash at the guest house as long as you want. Total privacy. I’ll even take out the nanny cams. Or maybe not. I’ve seen how you look through a lens,” he winks. 

Eddie laughs and shakes his head.

“Are you going to stay here?” Richie asks. “California, I mean.”

“I don’t know.” He admits, “I have an in at this firm in Chicago. But, I dunno. California could be nice.”

“Earthquakes and all?” Richie is trying not to pump his fist into the air. “That’s cool, man,” he says instead. He’s so happy, he didn’t think his day could get better. He’s looking over at Eddie and he can’t hold back his smile.

“What?” Eddie asks him, smiling back.

And Richie shrugs, but he can’t stop smiling.

_ “What?” _ Eddie asks again.

“Nothing!” Richie shakes his head. “It’s just, you’re here. And you’re divorced. And you quit your job.” He lifts his eyebrows suggestively and can’t stop himself from saying, “And you came _ so hard _ down my throat last night.”

Eddie blushes, throwing his hands up, “Dude!”

“That part was pretty great,” Richie adds. “And you didn’t run away, which was also not bad.”

“You thought I’d leave?”

Richie shrugs, “I didn’t know if you’d regret it.” He drops his smile, “I know, it’s not like your first time, but when  _ I _ first started, you know, with guys, I’d have the worst fucking panic attacks the next day. I’d be drunk at the time, just drunk enough to have the excuse. That it was okay because I didn’t really know what I was doing, right? But after this one time, the next day I thought for sure I was dying. My heart was pounding so fast and I couldn’t breathe. It didn’t even occur to me to call an ambulance otherwise I probably would have. It made me so sick that I threw up. I just went into the bathroom, in the dark, and laid down on the floor to die.”

“Shit, Richie. I didn’t know you had panic attacks.”

“Yeah, me either. I guess I figured it out. It hasn’t really happened since then. But I also kind of stopped the random hookups after that.” He shakes his head, “Anyway, I just didn’t want you to regret it.”

“I don’t,” Eddie replies simply. 

And it’s weird because Richie was positive that he’d be freaking out. He bites his lip and then frowns as he remembers he forgot to make a stop before he came home.

“What now?” Eddie asks nervously.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Richie tries.

“No, tell me.”

Richie blurts, “I forgot to get condoms.”

Eddie snaps his mouth shut and looks away. Richie’s pretty sure he’s blushing when he says, “A little presumptuous, don’t you think, dude?”

_ Shit. _

Richie is trying not to panic. They were just laughing and getting along and yeah, maybe he was assuming too much. “Uh,” he tries to think of anything to smooth it over but then Eddie stops him.

“Dude, I’m fucking with you. You didn’t think I’d show up here without them, did you?”

Richie blinks at him, “But last night-”

“You said you didn’t mind-”

“I don’t."

“You should,” Eddie adds.

“Have you been a big old slut since your divorce?” It’s supposed to be a joke but it comes out too bitter. And maybe Richie’s the jealous one.  _ “Have  _ you?” He asks again, when Eddie doesn’t answer. “Eddie!”

“No!” He finally says. “Not, really. No. No, I haven’t.” Then he admits, “It was just one.”

“Oh, fuck,” Richie’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Stop the fuckin’ parade. Big Dick Eddie’s hitting the town. Painting it white with his whole…  _ one _ hook up.” Richie laughs and feels a little better. It’s understandable. He was free from his divorce and maybe a little curious. And if it is somehow responsible for leading him to California then Richie supports it.

“It fuckin’ sucked, to be honest,” he groans. “They have these apps now, did you know that?”

“Yeah, I fucking know that,” Richie laughs, imaging Eddie trying to figure out a dating app. “I’ve been single my whole life. I’ve run the gamut.” 

“Yeah, well, they’re fucking creepy.”

“Why are they creepy?” Richie can’t stop himself from smiling, listening to Eddie rant.

“You enter in all this personal shit about yourself and then they just match you up with people. And all the same people that are on there are also matching up with each other. It’s a breeding ground for disease, and frankly, I’m surprised more people don’t get murdered.”

Richie’s laughing earnestly now, “Well, you made it out of there with a blowjob at least, right? So, couldn’t have been all bad.”

Eddie just shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. But  _ you _ do those?”

“No!” Richie says, “Fuck, no. I’ll stick with my stage groupies. Or I did. Before I started to get fucking panic attacks.”

“You didn’t get one last night,” Eddie beams.

“Your dick is too beautiful.” Using his Posh Guy accent, he adds, _ “It pierced through the gay panic and penetrated not only my throat, but my heart.” _

“Fuck you,” Eddie laughs.

Richie’s ready for it and replies, “Promises, promises.”

Flirting on the phone was easier. He didn’t have to worry about fucking anything up. But now Eddie is smiling at him, licking his lips, and lifting his eyebrows suggestively. “You’d actually let me? Like, I know you joked about it before but, like right now if I wanted to fuck you-”

Richie is about to beg him to, before he remembers he has wire work on set. “Fuck, any other time the answer would be, ‘Where do you want to bend me over?’ _. _ But I’m doing some stunt work tomorrow and not to give you an abundance of self esteem, because I love how completely batshit neurotic you are, but I’m pretty sure you’d destroy my ass with that monster cock you have hidden away.” It’s not  _ that _ big. Not really. But he likes the way Eddie blushes when he says it. And yeah, okay, it’s not  _ small. _

Eddie stands suddenly, “Why are we still talking?”

Richie jumps to his feet, “Don’t have to ask me twice.” He grabs Eddie’s hand and pulls him back into his house. They only trip once on the way in, “Stop stepping on my feet!” Richie hisses. 

“Don’t walks so fucking slow,” Eddie returns, but both recover quickly enough, laughing through it. 

Richie can’t make it to his room fast enough, so he even doesn’t try. When Richie turns abruptly, Eddie’s lips are already on his. He pushes back, pinning Eddie against the wall, he thinks some pictures might have fallen. And he can’t believe how hard his heart is pounding and how eagerly Eddie’s pushing against him. He runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair while he ruts against him like they’re young and figuring it out for the first time. Because, with Eddie he is. It’s something he’s never had before, someone he loves, not that he’ll admit that to Eddie. But he does want to show him all the things he can’t say. 

Richie’s hands fumble down to Eddie’s hips. His thumb runs over the bone jutting out. It’s all his healthy food keeping him fit, but Richie suspects he works out too, because his muscles are tight and toned and yeah, he’s  _ Fun Sized _ , and god, he’s so fucking hot.

Dropping to his knees, Richie fights with the zipper until finally Eddie’s cock is in his mouth. He listens to the way he gasps and shivers when his hands fist his hair. Eddie pulls it, making it sting in a way that Richie never wants to end. It’s so fucking perfect, and Richie’s fighting not to gag when Eddie thrusts forward so he can take in even more. 

He wants to record it. He wants to get out his phone and record it, so he can watch the way they look together, because he’s still in awe that Eddie is allowing it to happen at all.

But too soon Eddie’s breathing becomes shallow, his thrusts uneven, and he’s sighing, “Fuck, Rich, I’m gonna-”

Richie takes him in further, sucking harder. He uses his hand on his shaft to help bring him off. And Eddie fucks in, doubling over as he spills over Richie’s tongue.

His eyes are watering when Eddie pulls back.

Richie looks up at him through heavy lids. All wet pink lips with the taste of Eddie still on his tongue, and Eddie’s looking down like Richie just gave him the world.

He wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t think Eddie would appreciate tasting his own come. But, god, does he want to. He wants to fuck him up, just a little. Just enough to know that they  _ can _ without really getting hurt. 

He hangs his head and laughs at the thought as he stands. 

Eddie helps, grabbing his arm to balance him, “What?”

“Ah, fuck my knees,” Richie winces. He smiles and says, “I want to kiss you but I’m already playing through whatever lecture you’ll give me for not-”

Richie’s words get lost when Eddie pushes back into him, kissing him softly. Laving gently against his tongue. And he moans, reminding him how painfully hard he is behind his pants. When he pushes against him, Eddie gasps and pulls back. They share a breath as Richie slides his nose against Eddie’s. 

Richie can tell he’s nervous when Eddie reaches out to touch him over his pants. He’s practically shaking. 

“You don’t have to,” Richie offers, and he’s surprised it doesn’t kill him.

“Fuck off,” Eddie nips at his lip then reaches for his zipper.

Richie chases his mouth, kissing him while he fumbles to unzip his pants. They fall to the floor, but it’s the last thing on his mind once Eddie is stroking him. 

“Wait,” Eddie pulls away.

Richie watches wide-eyed as Eddie looks down at his dick. It takes him a moment to realize what he’s doing before he sees a long strand of spit leave Eddie’s mouth and land right on his cock. And  _ fuck _ . His dick throbs when Eddie’s thumb rubs over his tip, smearing his spit and pre-come. He slicks up his shaft and then he’s stroking Richie again. 

“You win the loogie hawk this round,” Richie whispers.

“Shut up,” Eddie breathes back. They both watch as his cock bobs in and out of Eddie’s fist. 

Richie can’t take it. He’s embarrassed at how little time it takes before he feels his balls pull up tight and that overwhelming wave at the base of his spine. He’s coming over Eddie’s fist, gasping his name, and trembling next to him as he tries to hold himself up.

He’s hears Eddie coaxing him softly, “So, fuckin’ good Rich. Fuck, just like that.”

Richie kisses him. Taking his time in a languid exploration of his mouth. Not really paying attention to what he’s doing, he just knows he needs to be kissing him. 

When he finally pulls away, Eddie says, “I think I’m dripping your jizz on the floor.”

“Oh, fuck,” Richie leans back. He tucks himself into his boxers and grabs his pants from the floor. “Uh, here,” he offers. 

Eddie wipes his hand on the leg and smirks at him, “What a fucking gentleman.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m gonna go wash my hands,” Eddie turns around. 

Richie follows after him but then breaks into his room to throw his pants into the dirty hamper and slip into pajamas. When he walks back out of his closet, Eddie is waiting for him.

“Feeling like Italian?” He asks.

They order takeout and relax in the living room watching  _ Terminator 2. _ They’re definitely not cuddling, but Eddie pushes into Richie’s shoulder and smiles when he demands Richie, “Do the voice! Do the voice!”

So he does the voice. He gives Eddie any quote he wants, while smiling like an idiot the entire time and reveling in the feel of Eddie solid and warm against him.

It gets late too fast and Richie needs to be on set the next day. He doesn’t let Eddie go into the guest room. He grabs his hand and pulls him into his bedroom, and Eddie doesn’t fight it.

* * *

The next morning Richie wakes to an empty bed. He grabs his glasses, jams them on his face, and climbs out quickly. Whatever he smells along the way is amazing as he walks down the hallway and finds Eddie in his kitchen like he belongs there.

“Hey, asshole,” Eddie greets him.

“Fuckface,” he returns jovially, but Richie catches Eddie smiling before he turns around.

Then suddenly he’s giving him some lecture about not having the right utensils, and that his food is unhealthy, and how he threw out anything he was allergic to that would definitely kill him. Richie doesn’t really hear the words. He nods and  _ uh-huhs _ on cue, and he’s more content than he can remember being in a long time just watching Eddie rant in his kitchen.

They eat breakfast, and although it’s healthy, Richie has to admit it’s not bad. But it’s getting late and he needs to get ready for work, and Richie doesn’t want to leave Eddie behind.

“Come with me today,” he says.

“Huh?” 

“On set,” Richie clarifies. “I mean, it’ll probably be boring as hell but I can get you a pass to walk the studio and you can hang out in my trailer if you want.”

“Really?” Eddie considers it before asking, “Wait, are there going to be like, famous people there?”

“On a movie set? I  _ doubt _ it,” his sarcasm is thick. He rolls his eyes and starts listing a few of the bigger names attached to the film. “They’re not all going to be there, but some might be wandering around.”

“Christ, you’re like an actual famous person now, you know that?” 

“What, I wasn’t before?”

“Before  _ that movie?  _ No. You did stand up.”

“Hey! I was in movies before! Check out my IMDB sometime, bitch.”

But Eddie ignores him, “No. No, no. I can’t go with you. There’s too many… too many of them. What would I say? I can’t. I can’t do that.”

Richie laughs at him, “You won’t say anything because they’ll walk right by you as they pretend not to notice you staring at them like a freak. Come on, man. It’ll be fun.” Eddie’s shaking his head so Richie adds, “I’ll blow you in my trailer. Huh? Want a blow job on the set of a big Hollywood film? I could probably even find some cocaine to snort off your dick if you want to go all out.” Eddie furrows his brow, but he’s considering it so Richie smiles. 

“I don’t know,” he finally says. 

“You’re going,” Richie insists. 

They stand up from the table and he grabs Eddie’s shoulders, directing him towards the guest bathroom.

Eddie complains the whole time about how he’s definitely not going, but he’s getting dressed and worrying about his clothes so Richie just smirks at him. When it’s time for Richie to leave, Eddie sits next to him in the passenger seat telling him exactly why it’s a bad idea that he’s joining him. But Richie’s heart is soaring. He’s driving to work with Eddie next to him, listening to him bitch and quote statistics about the traffic, and smog, and fires, and earthquakes. And it’s another in the line of best fucking day in Richie’s life thanks to Eddie.

Once they get on set, Richie gives him the basic tour but tells him he’ll be doing green screen work most of the day. Eddie says he wants to watch, which Richie makes a lewd comment about, then brings him with to the set.

“Hey, there’s Vanessa,” he says more to himself than to Eddie. Then calls out, “Vanessa!”

She runs over to him, “Hey! Congratulations-”

Richie interrupts her, “Sorry about the other day. I had some personal stuff going on.”

She gives him a sweet smile that he knows comes from being professional even though she’s overworked and underpaid, “It’s no problem. Really.”

“Vanessa is one of the PAs around here,” he explains to Eddie. “And this is Eddie my-” and he freezes. 

_ Friend! Friend! _ He’s shouting in his head. 

But they’re not just friends anymore, are they? But, they’ve never talked about what the hell they are. And even if they had he isn’t ready to come out so why would he freeze?

“Personal assistant,” Eddie extends his hand.

Richie repeats, “Personal assistant. Yeah.” He gives Eddie an encouraging nod for the save.

“Nice to meet you! Guess that’s necessary with how hot you are right now! Everyone’s really happy for you. You really deserve it,” Vanessa says.

“What?” Richie asks blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Her smile falters, “Michael brought it up, so I just assumed that-”

“What are you talking about?” Richie repeats, interrupting.

“Rumors are flying that you got the nomination for Best Actor. For  _ The Boy Who Loves You.” _ She’s smiling again. 

“Fuck,” Richie sighs.

“You didn’t know?” Vanessa fumbles the stack of papers in her arms but saves them from falling.

“Shit,” he gets his phone out to see several missed calls from Jason and a few voicemails. “Uh, excuse me a second,” he smiles at her and turns away.

“Wait! Here are the rewrites,” she shoves a new script at him and adds, “Congratulations, again. Really. You deserve it!” She walks away.

After she leaves, Eddie crowds against Richie’s arm, “Holy shit, dude. I knew it! I knew you’d get it!”

“It’s just-” Richie stops himself as he listens to the menu on his voicemail, “-a nomination.” And then he’s listening to several voicemails from his agent telling him to call him, they’re booking press immediately. Jason tells him over voicemail that he essentially has the nomination and that he’s been booked for SNL after the Oscars. “Holy fuck. What the fuck?”

“What did he say?”

Richie stands there, blank for a moment, before Eddie shakes him and he replies, “Yeah. I mean, it’s not announced yet, but Jason knows a guy and they’ve narrowed it down-”

“Oh my god, Richie!” Eddie hugs him and is practically jumping next to him.

Richie doesn’t know how to feel. He’s just a comedian. He never set out for any kind of artistic recognition, and who the fuck would find  _ him _ worth acknowledging anyway? “Fuck,” he sighs, stunned, and wipes his mouth.

It’s not official. It won’t be official for a few weeks. But people come up to him on set, pat him on the back and offer their congratulations. 

By the time Michael, the director, joins him, Richie feels more like himself, “Yeah, I bet the EPs are shitting themselves because they’ll be able to market this piece of shit with-” he falls into Movie Trailer Guy,  _ “Academy Award Nominee for Best Actor, Richie Tozier in, Heist to Meet You!” _

Everyone around him is laughing, and when he looks around he sees Eddie there, smiling up at him like he’s so damn proud.

Definitely the best fucking day of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't think Richie Tozier was obsessed with The Bloodhound Gang then you didn't grow up in the 90s around boys. The Ballad of Chasey Lain was released in 1999 but we're just going to pretend it was like 4-5 years earlier for the sake of fitting into the timeline of this fic.


	4. Chapter 4

“Aww. This is fucking bullshit. I see why they scheduled a break after stunt work,” Richie was in so much pain, he could barely waddle into his house. They had to use a driver to get home because both he and Eddie had celebrated a little too hard before leaving the studio. The alcohol relaxed him but it didn’t remove all the aches and Eddie had to help lead him to the couch.

“On the plus side for me, the harness they had you in made your ass look great,” Eddie teased, still tipsy, sitting heavily next to him. “So I was, like, really enjoying _that_ view.”

“Oh, fuck you. Are you just full out gay now or do you just want a piece of this ass because I have that nomination under my belt? It’s my prestige you’re after isn’t it?” He groans as Eddie’s checks him in the shoulder. He adds, “You know what, that’s fine. I didn’t want to tell you before but I’m only interested in you for your big dick anyway.”

“Sure. That’s why you’ve been mooning over me for the past, what, like thirty years?” 

“You know what, no. First of all, I didn’t even _know_ I was in love with you as a kid until like a year and half ago, okay? Fuck that clown. And second, fuck you!” 

“You wouldn’t be able to if you tried,” Eddie breaks down in giggles, pushing against Richie’s side.

“Wait,” Richie pauses at the thought, “Are you telling me I _can?”_

“No, I’m saying you physically _can’t._ But not because _I’d_ stop you.”

“Oh, fuck you! I’m going to-” Richie struggles, trying to stand, “fuck… you.”

Eddie is in a fit of laughter on the couch, reaching out to him, pulling him back in, “Don’t do it. You’ll hurt yourself more, you dumbass.”

Richie groans in pain and sinks reluctantly back into the seat next to Eddie, “My fucking trainer should have prepared me better.”

“You have a trainer?” 

“Just for _Heist._ They said I had to lose the dad-bod.”

“I noticed you were thinner,” Eddie bumps him with his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I liked the dad-bod. I jerked off to it enough,” he admits casually.

“Wait, rewind that. _What?”_

“I went to that thing so many times in theaters, dude. Eventually I just paid one of the younger guys at work to pirate it for me. So, yeah, I was totally jerking off to it. Like, all the fuckin’ time.”

“To _The Boy Who Loves You?!”_ Richies says it like he’s scandalized. And he kind of is. He feels like his brain is short circuiting from the mere thought of it. Eddie had told him before, but he thought he was just fucking around. “You were _actually_ beating off to it?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugs, “You’re really fucking hot in it.”

“It was about depression and self loathing. And I _died_ in the end!” 

“Yeah, but those sex scenes were, you know-” Eddie raises his eyebrows, _“hot._ Even Myra thought so. She didn’t hate you as much after that, anyway.”

“Dude,” Richie rubs his temples, “I can’t believe-” he shakes his head letting the thought drop. “Sometimes I just have these complete out of body experiences where I’m back home, still a kid. Still terrified as hell about being in love with this stupid fucking asinine dipshit of a friend, and then you say something like _‘I loved polishing the rocket to your depression-suicide indie film’_ and my brain is completely fried. Who thinks that’s hot? Huh? _Who?_ ”

“I told you, dude! I told you when I first saw it that this was a big deal. Haven’t you seen the websites? I’m not the only one who thinks it’s hot. There are sites _dedicated_ to it.”

“No, I don’t look at the websites!” Richie’s laughing in disbelief.

“Maybe you should,” Eddie’s smiling at him. 

“Not today. I don’t want to ruin today.” Richie closes his eyes and allows himself to relax into the couch. He mumbles mostly to himself, “I can’t believe you jerked off to that.”

“So many times," Eddie smiles back.

“Because of the sex scenes?” Richie asks again, opening one eye to watch him.

“Well, they weren’t bad,” Eddie says. “Okay, but all of that aside, if you really want to know, the movie is just really fucking good, alright. Like, it hurt, you know? It reminded me so much of the pain of growing up. How my mom treated me. It made me see how Myra treated me the same. I think me nearly dying was probably the best thing that ever happened to her, which, how fucked up is that? She barely let me leave her sight, even after I was better. It was so fucking suffocating. And then I saw the movie and I- I don’t know if you’re just _that_ good of an actor or if you connected to the story the way I did. I know it wasn’t really _you_ on screen living that life, man, but I felt like I finally got to see a side of you I never knew existed. And _that_ was hot.” Eddie leaned his head on Richie’s shoulder, “And knowing you hadn’t told anyone else, I felt like that version of ‘you’ on screen was just for me.”

Richie’s stomach leaps at his confession as warmth blooms in his chest. He says softly, “You want to know a secret? I really wasn’t acting. That's why I wanted to do the project. I read the script and I was like, _Fuck, that’s me!_ And to be honest, I’m fucking shitting bricks about this nomination. Like, now they all think I’m some great performer when really, for the first time in my life I _stopped_ acting for five minutes.” Richie closes his eyes, trying to swallow back the words, but he makes himself admit, “I’m still _too_ fucking terrified to come out. I can’t do it. Even telling the rest of the gang, just thinking about it makes me feel like I’m a kid again.” Richie sighs, “You literally _are_ the only person who knows that’s _me_ in the movie.”

Eddie nudges against him, “You still deserve the nomination, man.”

Richie doesn’t agree with that, but Eddie’s nestled in close so he’s not going to complain. “You, um, you remember the monologue at the end? The narration?”

“Right before the suicide?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Eddie says so softly and warm against Richie’s arm.

“When I was recording the V.O. I kept imagining you when we were kids,” Richie doesn’t know why he tells him, it feels like another confession that Eddie deserves to hear. “It was everything that I felt about you growing up. And I was so terrified all the time that you’d figure it out, that I’d fuck up and be too obvious and you’d know.” His breath shakes when he adds, “And you’d hate me.” He can’t look at him in the eye, “But I thought maybe if you did, then at least I could move on. I thought about you the whole time we filmed. I wouldn’t even be a contender if it weren’t for you, man.”

“Do you still remember it? Will you say it to me?”

Of course Richie remembers. When he read the script the words wouldn’t leave his brain no matter how hard he tried to pretend like he hadn’t already lived it. It doesn’t take any time for him to fall into character. His voice is different but it's him. Tracing patterns absently on Eddie’s knee, he takes a deep breath and begins, _“You take the things you love and tear them apart or you pin them down with your body and pretend they're yours. So, you kiss him, and he doesn't move, he doesn't pull away, and you keep on kissing him. And he hasn't moved, he's frozen, and you've kissed him, and he'll never forgive you, and maybe now he'll leave you alone.”_

Richie can’t meet his eyes. He’s still looking down, repeating the lines he’s traced on Eddie’s pants, ignoring the way he’s staring at him.

“Rich,” his voice is soft.

But he can’t look up. He’s trying to fight tears building behind his eyes and he can’t look at Eddie. Eddie who knows now how painfully in love with him he was. And he left his wife and his job and came to California to see him, but Richie doesn’t want to scare him away, and here he is pouring his heart out.

“Richie,” Eddie says again, and he finally looks up, “We’re not kids anymore.”

Then he’s kissing him. Richie’s trying to ignore the pain in his muscles as Eddie’s tongue is licking into his mouth but he can’t help it. He winces and Eddie pulls away.

“Oh, shit. That’s right. Sorry.”

Richie’s about to tell him to ignore it, but Eddie’s already getting off of the couch. He watches like an idiot as Eddie kicks his feet apart, making room for himself, kneeling between his legs. His hands are at Richie’s belt and Richie’s frozen.

“Are you going to blow me on my couch?!”

“Uh, duh,” Eddie’s tugging on his pants, “Way to ruin the moment, dick.”

“Uh, do you want a condom?” Richie asks just to be polite, because no way in hell does he actually want to wear one. He’s still in shock about Eddie saying he’s going to give him a blow job on his sofa.

“You want one?”

“No!”

Eddie shrugs, “You’re practically a virgin, right?” 

Richie gets with the program and is pushing his pants down, “I’m not a _virgin_ , dickhead. I said it’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” Eddie replies sarcastically, “Your _whole_ life is a long-fuckin-while, dude.” 

“How many times have you had a dick in your mouth?” Richie fights back. He winces as he’s trying to push his boxers down. Eddie doesn’t respond so Richie adds, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Who’s the virgin now?”

“You want me to blow you or not, jackass?” 

Richie shuts the hell up and nods at him as Eddie grabs the base of his cock. He can tell he’s nervous by the way he takes a deep breath. And though he wants Eddie’s lips wrapped around him more than he can fathom, he’s still terrified of screwing up or pushing him away. 

“Eddie, you don’t have to-”

He points at him, “Shut the fuck up!”

Then Richie’s cock is in his mouth and it’s so fucking hot, and he’s pulling off to lick around the tip and Richie feels stunned. The way he strokes him off, sucking him, and Richie’s squirming on the cushion, he feels his eyes flutter but he doesn’t want to close them. He wants to see the way Eddie’s head bobs in his lap, that full head of hair that he’s dreamed about for years. 

A shaking hand finds its way to the top of Eddie’s head, and he can feel the thick, coarse locks between his fingers. Gaining more confidence, Eddie slows his pace to gently tease up his length, then meets Richie’s eyes. Heavy lidded through thick lashes, his tongue trails languidly across his slit. Richie’s never going to look at those lips the same, and Eddie’s taking down the length of him again, like he wants it just as much. As if this were the only thing on his mind all day, and maybe it was. 

The thought of Eddie looking at him on set, thinking about doing this, _craving_ it the whole shoot, has Richie stunned. Because things are no longer one-sided. This is Eddie being a pretty fucking active participant in whatever the fuck is happening between them. Maybe he could ignore getting blown by Richie, or giving him a sympathy jerk, but Eddie’s lips are wrapped tight around his cock and he’s moaning around him like he’ll never get enough, and that can’t be shrugged aside.

One of Eddie’s hands pushes Richie's legs apart further, as he moves to stroke him and he sucks on the head of his cock. While his other hand finds its way to his balls, massaging gently, until a finger slips behind them to rub.

And fuck, Richie’s can’t believe Eddie’s touching him like that. He slouches down, and spreads his legs wide, dying to know what Eddie’s going to do to him. Because he wouldn’t- no way in hell would Eddie-

“Fuck,” Richie cries.

Eddie’s finger found his hole and he’s massaging him gently, teasing him with pressure. And Richie needs him to push in. He needs to feel Eddie inside. He wonders if he looks as desperate as he feels, splayed out, legs shaking, with Eddie’s mouth hot and tight around his cock and his finger finally pushing in.

“Jesus, Eds,” he loves him so goddamn much.

Eddie’s pushing in and crooking his finger until whatever the hell he’s doing makes Richie nearly black out. He feels weightless as he rides close to spilling. His hand somehow cooperates when he pats Eddie’s head.

“I’m- I’m gonna-” 

Eddie pulls away, lips leave his dick, much to Richie’s disappointment, but he’s still stroking him, And the finger inside him is doing something indescribable to him. He can’t see but he can feel the current of pleasure crashing over him. Too much, as he shudders with Eddie between his legs. And he’s coming hard and fast all over himself.

“Fuck, Rich, that’s so fucking hot,” Eddie says.

Richie hangs his head back and sighs as he learns how to breathe again. “I can’t stand. Get me a towel?” 

Eddie laughs, but does, while Richie closes his eyes and lays backs, so fucking thankful that Eddie’s here.

* * *

Several days pass and Eddie hasn’t said a word about how long he plans on staying. Richie is afraid to bring it up, worried that he might unintentionally push him out. So he doesn’t say a thing and Eddie seems to make himself at home. Anytime Richie sees him settled in, it puts something in his heart at ease.

Eddie has been sitting at his computer at the kitchen counter all day. Richie doesn’t want to disrupt him. Whatever he is working on has his brow furrowed and scribbling angrily on a piece of paper, then sighing dramatically and typing furiously for nearly three hours. So Richie decides it’s best to leave him alone.

But he was itching to wrap his arms around him and fuck him senseless.

They’d talked about it.

They’d joked about it.

But it hadn’t happened yet.

And it was all Richie could think about since he finally had a day off in which he wasn’t in excruciating pain.

He’d been watching Eddie work so long without speaking, Richie almost missed him. It wasn’t like Eddie came with him to set _everyday_ . Richie knew how boring it was so he didn’t want to pressure him into going more often than he wanted to be there. And even though they fall into bed together each night, Richie never feels like he has spent enough time with Eddie, constantly thinking, _This could be the last night._ He doesn’t want to push Eddie, the last thing Richie wants to do is suffocate him into leaving. So he tries to give him space when Eddie seems content enough on his own.

But Richie has a full day off and he finally isn’t doing junkets with Ryan to promote the film, and he isn’t in pain from stunts on set, so all he can think about is fucking Eddie’s brains out.

He stares at him, as nonchalantly as he can manage, from across the living room. Richie should be running lines, or working on his next set, and when he realizes how creepy he is being, just fucking pining over Eddie, he very casually stands up. Walking into his office, he grabs a pad of paper and a pen, then returns to the living room to sit once more. Tapping the paper, he writes a few lines, scratches some out, then writes a few more. Nothing earth shattering or inspiring comes to him when all he can think about is spreading Eddie over every surface in his house and fucking him raw.

He sighs and scratches his head, setting the paper down.

Looking at it a moment, he grabs it again and tears off the written pieces to get to a blank page. Scribbling words, he grins to himself, rips it out of the pad, and folds it up. On the outside he writes, _‘Eddie’_ with a heart in the “i” and tries not to laugh.

He walks over to him, sliding the folded up rectangle towards Eddie who doesn’t look up as he continues to frown at his screen, typing furiously. Then Richie steps back and waits a minute for Eddie to finally take the paper and read it.

_Dear Eddie Kaspbrak,_

_I wrote to explain, I’m your biggest fan._

Eddie scoffs, recognising the lyrics of the song, but doesn’t look up as he continues to read.

_I just wanted to ask could I take you out on a date (and then eat your ass)?_

_Write back as soon as you can._

Richie signed his name with hearts in the “i”s.

Frowning, Eddie grabs a pencil, flips the paper over, and writes angrily on the other side.

And Richie’s nervous now. It was supposed to make him laugh, or at the very least crack a smile. But maybe Eddie is too busy and he timed it wrong. As he’s biting his bottom lip, Eddie folds the paper back up and throws it in his direction without ever even looking at him.

Richie frowns and unfolds it to read Eddie’s scribbles.

_Give me an hour to get ready, asshole._

Eddie stands, closing his laptop, then points at him, “You’re paying! And I’m not the only one putting in an effort here. No Hawaiian shirts! Go change.”

“I don’t own Hawaiian shirts... _anymore.”_ And that’s definitely a lie, but Richie smiles, “If I look too nice the paps are gonna suspect something.”

“Uh no, that’s not gonna get you out of trying. You want this ass, you’re gonna work for it.”

That’s enough to shut him up. But it still only takes twenty minutes before Richie feels like he’s as ready as he can be. He does spend some time trying to find something halfway decent to wear. The shower is still running so he knows Eddie is going to be true to his word and make him wait the full hour. 

With his sudden popularity he decides to call in to one of his favorite local restaurants. It doesn’t put Kansas City to shame, but their BBQ ribs hold their own and he thinks even Eddie might find something he likes there. It’s not the kind of place that needs a reservation, but he wants to give them a courtesy heads-up in case there will be any extra attention. And yeah, he actually does kind of want to have a table saved for him. It’s one of the perks of being recognized, so screw him for cashing in on it.

He feels like he’s pacing the kitchen by the time Eddie comes out. And Richie’s heart melts. He looks good. He looks _hot._ He’s in dark jeans with a black button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. 

“We don’t have to go out,” Richie says suddenly. “I mean, we can do the second part first.”

“No. You’re taking me out on a real date. I want to see what all the celebrities like to do with their time in L.A.”

“You New Yorkers think you own culture with your MET and your Guggenheim but I’m going to blow your mind. You’re gonna love it and you’re going to regret ever thinking that New York has a monopoly on sophistication. I won’t be surprised if you’re so impressed you decide to move here immediately.”

“Bring it on, asshole. Do your worst. I can’t wait to make fun of you for how Hollywood you’ve gone.”

* * *

“What the fuck is this?” Eddie squints at the image before him.

Richie’s laughing quietly, “I’ve wanted to come here for so long, dude!”

“No, seriously, what the fuck am I looking at, Rich? What the fuck is this?”

They’d arrived at L.A.’s Velvet Painting Museum half an hour ago, and Eddie is still disgusted.

Richie points, “Obviously, that’s Big Foot. And his buddies, those aliens are flying overhead, probably to drop off some In-N-Out. God. I want this for my bedroom.”

“This is exactly how I expected your place to be decorated. Are you sure _this_ isn’t your house?” 

“There are not nearly enough Elvises here,” Richie criticizes as they continue to walk.

“Look! Look! A jackalope riding a unicorn!” Eddie says excitedly.

They hold onto each other's arms as they walk through the museum, tugging and pointing and laughing at the paintings on the wall. Richie comes up with voices and has stories to tell for them all, while Eddie is in tears holding his sides with laughter. Richie had been nervous when he’d thought to bring him there for a date, but he _had_ always wanted to come. And he was hoping Eddie would like it too.

Eddie leans in, “This place is so fuckin’ stupid. I love it.”

“Finally ready to admit that California is better than New York?”

“Only the art.”

It feels like the highest praise he could ask for. He is reluctant to leave but there isn’t much else to see, so they push themselves out into the evening. Richie drives the long way to his favorite restaurant. He points out famous locations of different movies that he thinks Eddie might be interested in. Then his stomach growls and they’re walking into the restaurant. He tries not to talk it up too much but he _is_ excited for those ribs.

Eddie orders something light, which of course he would, and they sit in a somewhat secluded area while they wait for their food. They laugh about their favorite paintings. Richie uses characters and different voices to expand the stories, coming up with intricate details about the lives inside the paintings, and Eddie has trouble breathing through his laughter. It warms Richie's heart to see Eddie smiling. He is so happy and his face is so much lighter than earlier in the day. Richie wants to ask what he’s been working on, but he is afraid of the answer. If it is anything that will take him away from California, then Richie doesn’t want to know.

By the time their food arrives, Richie is starving. He jumps in right away, probably making a huge fucking mess of himself, but he doesn’t care. The ribs are fucking delicious and they deserve his full attention. That is, until he notices Eddie isn’t eating, only giving him a smirk.

“Something wrong?” Richie asks, concerned.

“No,” Eddie smiles at him, amused.

“You’re not eating anything.”

“I’m saving room,” Eddie replies.

“For what?”

He leans in and says, “Your dick, dude.”

Richie feels like his jaw is hanging open, “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why the hell did you think I needed so long in the shower?”

“I don’t know!” Richie puts down his ribs. He searches for the waitress and waves her over.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks.

“We’re going home. You’re not going to eat?” He asks again.

“Not until later. _”_

“Okay,” Richie opens his wallet, "Then we don't need to be here."

The waitress comes over and he asks for their meals to be boxed. She smiles pleasantly and takes them away.

“Yeah, we’re leaving. Right now,” Richie says while Eddie laughs at him.

They get stopped on the way out. Richie takes a picture with a fan, makes a little small talk, then he's excusing himself. Then he pulls Eddie aside and pushes him into his car and they’re driving back home.

It’s the longest drive of his life and when they finally get into his house they crash into each other immediately.

Richie pulls at Eddie’s shirt as he walks him back towards the bedroom, “Can’t believe you made me take you on a fucking date before I could fuck you.”

“Just trying to get my money’s worth.”

“You sound like a whore,” Richie licks at his bottom lip adding, “I kind of like it.”

“Yeah? You're gonna share me?” Eddie’s fingers are at his zipper as they’re finally stumbling into Richie’s room.

“Fuck, no.”

They break away from each other only to quickly strip down to their boxers. Eddie wants to keep an undershirt on but Richie makes him take it off. Then he’s grabbing Eddie’s shoulders and turning him around, forcing him to face away. Richie crowds in behind him, rubbing his hard cock against Eddie’s ass as he bites the crook of his neck. Eddie’s gasping out, reaching behind himself to hold Richie even closer.

“You’re really gonna let me fuck you?” Richie asks in disbelief. 

“I didn’t fuckin’ douche just so you could suck me off.”

Richie’s pretty sure his brain derails, “Oh, fuck, Eds. That’s like the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard you say.” He means it, too.

He walks Eddie to the bed and Eddie climbs on it. Richie follows and he’s pulling at Eddie’s underwear as he’s trying to kick them off his legs. Richie kneels, in awe that Eddie is splayed out on his stomach, naked on his bed.

He reaches out, massaging along his legs, and thighs, and ass. And as he kneads the muscles he massages enough to see Eddie’s hole. He can’t take it any longer. He throws his glasses to the side of the bed and leans over him. Eddie’s breathing is shallow and short. Richie can feel him trembling as he licks across. 

“Fuck,” Eddie sighs, “I can’t believe you actually did that.”

Richie does it again, mostly to shut him up, afraid that Eddie will change his mind and tell him to stop. He pulls back enough to blow over his wet skin, “Wanted to eat you out for so long, Eddie.”

Then he licks again, and Eddie’s shaking, pushing back onto his tongue as he teases over the too sensitive skin.

“Rich,” his fists are holding onto the sheets.

Richie pulls away enough to replace his tongue with a finger. There isn’t as much resistance as he was expecting as he crooks his finger inside him.

“Fuck, Richie.”

“Have you ever let anyone do this to you?” Richie removes his finger and replaces it with his tongue again, this time pushing in further. Enjoying every moment that he’s allowed to touch him like this. That _his_ Eddie is moaning because of the things he’s doing to him with his tongue. And he’s _allowed_ to. Eddie isn’t complaining or whining. He's pushing back against Richie’s tongue as he licks into him. Slowly, he pulls away and lets his spit fall against Eddie’s hole, then he’s pushing in again with a finger. 

“No one else, Rich,” Eddie’s shoulders tense as he admits it.

Richie tries to add another finger but there’s more resistance.

“Wait, wait,” Eddie whispers.

Richie’s reluctant to stop, but he does. And then Eddie is throwing lube and a condom at him. Richie sets it beside him, but goes back to Eddie and positions him how he wants. He moves him so he’s on his knees and his ass is out. 

“Eddie,” he whispers as he gently touches his back. His heart aches with how much he loves him. He wonders if Eddie knows by the tone of his voice.

Richie doesn’t complain about the condom because in his wildest dreams he never imagined being this close to the one thing he wanted more than anything. He rolls it on quickly, then gets lube, enough to work two fingers in easily. 

Eddie gasps out, but instead of pulling away he rocks himself back on his fingers. Richie loves how he feels, so hot and tight around him. He stretches him open and adds another. Eddie hisses, so he works slowly until Eddie’s pushing back onto him.

“Fuck me, Richie. Come on,” Eddie pleads.

Richie has to close his eyes for a moment to steady himself. Grasping his cock, he lines himself up behind Eddie, then pushes in slowly.

And the trembling sigh escaping Eddie’s lips as he moves in, fully seated in him, has Richie shivering too. He gives them both a moment to adjust when he runs his palms down Eddie’s back and ends with his hands gripping his hips. He notices the way his hip bones feel under his fingers and Eddie’s shifting around on his dick, pushing back gingerly.

“You okay, Eds?”

“Yeah, just-” Eddie moves his arm around to grab his own cock.

But Richie reaches, pushing Eddie’s hand out of the way. With enough lube on his own, he starts stroking Eddie slowly. He can feel when Eddie relaxes into him, little thrusts into his fist and pushing back on Richie’s cock. His heart is pounding as he strokes Eddie, and he’s dying not being able to move. 

“Come on, Rich. Fuck me,” Eddie exhales, dropping his head low, pushing hard back against Richie.

Reluctantly, Richie lets go of his dick, and grabs his hips again. He watches the way Eddie’s back muscles flex and he finally pulls out enough to thrust in with intention. 

“Fuck,” Eddie bites his bottom lip. 

Richie does it again, slower, wanting to hear Eddie beg.

“Rich, please,” his hand is back on his cock and he’s pulling himself off while Richie teases him with his dick, moving too slow.

And Richie can’t get over the way he looks, glistening with sweat, pleading for Richie’s cock. He finally gives in. He’s throbbing around the heat of Eddie’s body and it’s too much. So he pulls out and fucks in, again and again, listening to the uneven breaths of Eddie's hitch beneath him, while feeling the pounding in his own chest. He thrusts harder and faster, and Eddie pushes back to meet every one, fucking himself on Richie’s cock. 

Richie’s hands move, roaming over Eddie’s sides, they grip his shoulders to pull him onto his dick, hard. 

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie moans.

“So fucking, hot, Eds,” Richie pants. 

He’s close. He’s too close. But he’s hanging onto the feeling as long as he can. Treading water in the fog before release, but he’s too close to the edge. And Eddie’s fucking back on him too hard, swearing and moaning his name in reverence and it’s all too much.

“Fuck, fuck, Richie,” Eddie’s head hangs low and his body relaxes.

Richie’s close, once he realises he fucked Eddie through his orgasm, he’s right behind. Erratic, pounding thrusts, coming deep inside him. And he’s out of breath but blissed the fuck out. 

He’s reluctant to pull away from Eddie, but he does. Dropping to the bed, Eddie collapses next to him. Richie isn’t thinking right when he reaches out and pulls Eddie’s back against his chest. Nudging his neck, Richie holds him close, smelling sweat so familiar to him now. 

Eddie turns his head around and kisses him, pushing his tongue into his mouth.

Richie pulls back to say, “I just ate your ass.”

Eddie freezes.

“You totally forgot,” a smile breaks out on Richie’s face. 

“Go brush your teeth and then get your ass back in here,” Eddie orders, waving him off with his hand.

Richie only agrees because the condom is still on his softening dick and it’s going to leak so he needs to take care of it.

When he returns, Eddie’s putting his boxers back on to Richie’s disappointment.

“I’m fucking starving,” Eddie shrugs. 

Richie laughs and realizes he is too. They return to the kitchen and finish their food from the restaurant. And Richie has to admit, it was a pretty good first date.

* * *

Each day Richie feels like they’ve peaked and nothing could top it. Like each new day with Eddie truly is the best of his life. If anything it’s evidence of how shitty his life had been until that point. But now Eddie’s on set with him more days than he’s not. The guise of being Richie’s assistant has been invaluable. No one questions why he’s shadowing him around and he has full access to everything he’d need. Occasionally he’ll even bring Richie coffee. Richie thanks him with a smug smile and whispers to him that he’s a good little bitch. Eddie quips back that he’ll only be repaid in sexual favors and Richie thinks he can agree to the terms.

The studio is still pushing the on-set romance narrative but now Richie smiles when he and Amelia need to cozy up for a picture. He knows as soon as he walks into his trailer he’s going to get slammed into the wall and kissed breathlessly by a very jealous Eddie. One time Eddie marks him up so bad that the girls in makeup have trouble covering it. After that Richie tells him he needs to keep it beneath the clothes. Eddie seems to take it as a compliment.

Richie hits _post_ on the latest image (Amelia kissing his cheek) and waits a few minutes before walking back to the trailer. 

Sure enough, when he walks through the door he sees Eddie looking at his phone, swearing, “What the fuck?” He looks up and asks, “Does she have to kiss you? Really?”

“Spoiler alert, Eds, but she kisses me a lot in the movie. We even have a raunchy sex scene.”

“Really?” He crosses his arms and pouts.

“Does that bother you?”

“Well, I’m not getting off on the idea.”

“You did with Ryan,” Richie teases him. “A lot, apparently.”

“Ha-ha,” he says sarcastically. “That was different.”

“Was it?” Richie’s just pushing him now, but he likes seeing Eddie wound up. He crowds into him, nuzzles against his ear, “You like watching me get fucked, is that the difference?”

Eddie turns his head, pushing his lips against Richie’s, then he’s grabbing his hair and kissing down his neck, biting hard, marking him up where he knows he shouldn’t. But Richie forgets to protest.

“You want to watch when we film it?”

“Film what?” Eddie’s hands rub over the front of his pants. “Why are you still wearing these?”

Richie laughs and unzips his pants and says, “The sex scene.”

Eddie freezes and pulls away, “Seriously? There’s actually a sex scene in this?”

“It’s just for a gag, so don’t start creaming your jeans just yet. You can see me with my dick in a sock in front of the whole set. It’ll be great and not completely humiliating for me in any way.”

“You’d let me watch?”

And now Richie feels awkward. He stammers a little before saying, “I think it’s cute you get jealous, but I don’t want you to, you know, think that there’s anything really… _real_ there.”

And now Eddie is smiling, “I actually don’t, man. I mean, she’s like a fuckin’ ten and you’re _Richie Trashmouth Tozier_. You wouldn’t stand a chance, dude.”

Richie laughs and backhands a slap towards Eddie’s balls, making him double over out of the way. He misses. Then says, “Fuck you. I’ve dated models, asshole.”

“Yeah? How’d that work out for you?”

“The sex was terrible,” he admits. “Yeah, apparently some girls have vaginas. Not really my thing.” 

Eddie’s laughing and Richie’s crowding in to kiss him again. The way he works his hand into Richie’s pants, gripping his cock and stroking him hard as he rubs his thumb over the tip, makes him lightheaded. Richie’s heart pounds faster. He is in a constant state of disbelief that Eddie wants anything to do with him, let alone likes him enough to get him off. He feels short of breath and can feel himself trembling as they kiss. He loves him. He loves Eddie so fucking much it hurts and he wonders if it actually is possible to die from a broken heart, because when Eddie decides to leave it’ll kill him. He can’t go back to the half-life he was living without him.

Richie gasps without realizing it, and Eddie stops to whisper against his lips, “Are you okay? You’re shaking.”

Richie holds his eyes closed tight but nods his head. There’s a knock on his trailer door and he looks up, “Shit.” Tucking himself back in and zipping his pants he whispers, “Good?”

Eddie pushes his hair around for him a little and shrugs, “I don’t know, dude. Do you ever brush your hair?”

“No. You’ve been living with me long enough, have you _ever_ seen me do it? Hair and makeup does.” Once he feels presentable enough, he walks over to the door.

“That is the bougiest shit I’ve ever heard, dude, and I’m pretty sure you weren’t joking that time.”

He’s looking at Eddie when he opens the door and says, “It’s not bougie! It’s lazy. There’s a difference.”

“Hey, Rich,” a familiar voice greets him.

He turns to see Bill standing at the bottom of his trailer steps. 

“What the fuck?” He laughs awkwardly then closes the door in his face to whisper back at Eddie, “Bill’s here! What the fuck?” Bill knocks again and he opens it quickly with a smile, “What the hell are you doing here, man?” 

_Nice save,_ he thinks.

Walking out, he shuts the door behind him, feeling like he was caught with his pants down, which he basically was. The save is useless as the door swings open wide and Eddie says, “Bill who- Oh, my god! It’s _Bill!_ ” 

He retreats into the trailer, slamming the door.

“Was that _Eddie?"_ Bill asks. 

“Uh, yeah! Let me, just, yeah. One second. Stay here,” he rushes back inside and locks the little door behind him just in case.

“What the fuck is Bill doing here?” Eddie whispers.

“I don’t fucking know!” Richie scratches back.

“Fuck.”

“It’s not that big of a deal. He already saw you. Just come out.”

“Come out!? _You_ haven’t even come out yet and you’ve been dealing with this _way_ longer than I have!”

“Out of the fucking _trailer,”_ Richie enunciates clearly, “Not the closet!” 

“Oh, yeah. Okay.” Eddie puts his hands on his hips, “Uh, we’ll just say I’m visiting?” 

“You _are_ just visiting,” Richie replies. He brushes at Eddie’s hair, making sure it doesn’t look too disheveled.

“We’re not gonna… not gonna- not gonna, _you know?”_

Richie shoots him a confused look.

Eddie tries again, closing his eyes, “Not going to _tell him_ … about-” he gestures between the two of them.

“Fuck, no!”

“Okay,” Eddie sighs in relief and laughs. “Okay, yeah. Okay. Bill’s here. Cool.”

An impatient knock is pounding back on his door. 

“Bill!” Richie and Eddie greet at the same time as Richie opens the door. They walk out of the trailer.

“What the hell are you doing here, man?” Richie gives Bill a hug.

“Rewrites. They called me in to script doctor. It’s uncredited so I wasn’t going to do it but then I saw it was one of your projects and I thought, I hadn’t seen you in a while. So, I decided to show up to the set and everything.”

“Did they throw some serious dinero your way? That’s how they got me.”

“Yeah, that helped too,” Bill smiles and turns to Eddie to give him a hug. “What are _you_ doing here, Eds? Finally made it out and didn’t even call me?”

Eddie is smiling at him and Richie can tell he’s nervous. And suddenly he’s so fucking turned on. Eddie is jumpy and being awkward and it’s all because of whatever he and Richie are doing. And Richie kind of likes it, likes having a secret between the two of them. But as he thinks about it longer, he starts to double guess himself, wondering if Eddie’s anxious to reveal he’s fucking a guy, or embarrassed that he’s fucking _Richie_. 

He wouldn’t blame him if he was.

“Yeah, just decided to come out to the west coast finally,” Eddie shrugs.

“You were talking about it for months. I didn’t think you’d ever get out here,” Bill adds.

“Months?” Richie asks.

“Since the divorce.” Eddie gives Richie a glare, “You would have known if you ever bothered to show. But I finally made it!”

“Well, I’m glad. Actually, I think Bev is supposed to be here in a week or so. She has a runway.”

“We should all get together!” Richie surprises himself that he’s sincere when he says it. “Call Mike, tell him to come.”

“Yeah, they can all stay at Richie’s place. It’s a fuckin’ mansion,” Eddie nudges him with his shoulder.

He rolls his eyes, “It’s not a mansion, dude.”

“You have a freakin’ pool.”

“Tell him everyone in California has a fucking pool,” Richie says to Bill.

“And a guesthouse. And maids. And a groundskeeper,” Eddie adds.

Richie concedes his point, “They can stay at my place.”

Bill shakes his head but he has a smile on his face, “That sounds good.”

“You and Audra can stay too if you want. It’ll be like old times, kind of. A sleepover, only we won’t have to sleep on a wooden floor.”

Bill nods and then says, “Hey! Congratulations, by the way! I heard through the grapevine.”

Richie bites his lip awkwardly, “Yeah, thanks. They were short on war movies this year so the Academy thought,” he uses his pretentious guy to say, _“You know what we need for a change is to recognize a mediocre white man! And this film is depressing and about a homosexual! Diversity points all around!”_

Bill pats him on his shoulder, “You were really good, man. I’m serious.”

“I keep trying to tell him that but he won’t listen to me,” Eddie smiles.

Richie is surprised how quickly at ease he and Eddie become with Bill. The three of them fall into step, and Richie feels like a jackass for skipping out on the reunions for so long. He wonders if he would have gone if Eddie really would have told him about the divorce that much earlier. That maybe he was watching for Richie to make the effort the whole time? He feels like even more of a dick for ditching.

Later that night after they’d messaged everyone and made arrangements for the next reunion (at Richie’s _mansion_ ), he pulls Eddie into bed. Curling onto his side he rests his head near Eddie’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t you want to tell Bill about us?” Richie asks softly. It had been bothering him all day.

“Did _you_ want to tell him?”

“No,” Richie says quickly. And he didn’t. “But, I mean, I would, I guess. If you wanted to. Just them.”

“I’m just-” Eddie takes a deep breath, “I can’t, yet. Okay? I can’t. I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he says, but Richie’s mind is racing, wondering if he is more invested in whatever they have than Eddie is. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe they _are_ just fucking around because Eddie is rebounding after Myra and Richie is just an idiot thinking it’s something more.

Eddie sighs and continues, “I have this idea of who I am, you know? Of how people see me. And I just haven’t figured out how this all fits in.”

“Are you embarrassed of me?”

Eddie laughs.

He continues to laugh and Richie finally elbows him in the side.

“It’s a sincere question!” Richie insists. 

“Of course I’m embarrassed of you,” Eddie’s laughing so hard the bed is shaking. “With your fuckin’ voices and your stupid glasses. And your-” he waves his hand in Richie’s general area, “You don’t brush your hair, dude. Who doesn’t brush their hair?”

“Yeah, okay. I get it. You can stop.”

“You always embarrassed the hell out of me. On _purpose._ You literally told me you targeted me on purpose as kids.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

Eddie’s still laughing quietly when he says, “That’s not why I didn’t want to tell Bill, though. You’re an embarrassment to him too, by the way.”

“Okay, yeah, fuck you,” Richie sneers. He knows he tortured Eddie as a kid. He knows it. He deserves the taunts. “An _Oscar nominated_ embarrassment.” 

“Look,” Eddie says seriously. “I’ve only been here a few weeks-”

“Oh, shit,” Richie says suddenly. He knows he screwed up by asking Eddie anything at all.

“What?”

“I fucked up, can we forget I asked you that?”

“What? Why?”

“Because this is getting dangerously close to ‘defining things’ territory and you seem like you’re scared shitless. I’m having a good time with you and I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Richie,” Eddie shakes his head, “You’re a famous comedian, a movie star, a rich asshole. You’re freakin’ _loaded_. And yeah, dude, you’ve been nominated for an Oscar. And you saved my fucking life. You sat by my hospital bed every single night. You know the nurses told me you bribed them so you could be there. I can’t believe you think I’d be embarrassed to be with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, man. I mean, you’re embarrassing as hell, but this is the most fun I’ve had, probably since we were kids.”

“Yeah, me too. Only, I guess it’s better now because of all the sex. And no more murder clown.”

“Yeah, fuck that guy. Was he an alien? What the fuck?”

“You’re an idiot,” Richie’s laughing against Eddie’s arm.

“That’s why you love me.”

“Love your dick, maybe,” Richie hopes he’s convincing, but Eddie doesn’t push it.

“What I was _going_ to say was that I don’t know what the hell is going on. I really need to get a job at some point. I can’t keep living off of you forever. I’m paying for insurance out of pocket right now, which, without a steady income is a fucking nightmare. I’m burning through what little was left of my savings after the divorce. And if I end up leaving because my job takes me somewhere else, I don’t know, I don’t want to have to explain it to the guys. I just kind of want this one thing all to myself.” 

Richie wraps his arms around him in a hug. He wants to tell him to stay forever. That he’ll buy him anything he wants. He’ll marry him just for the insurance. Anything to keep him. “I could pay you to be my actual assistant if you want.”

“No, dude. I’ve seen how they get treated. Fuck that.”

“Eddie, you know you can stay as long as you want, right? You know I want you here.”

“Yeah, Richie. I know.” Eddie turns in towards him.

Richie reaches out to Eddie’s shirt. He lifts it up enough to get his hand inside and traces the scars. The feel of them beneath the tips of his fingers is reassuring. Reminding Richie that it was real. They fall asleep cuddling. It happens most nights now. And ever since Eddie’s been sleeping in his bed, nightmares and memories of witnessing his death seem a little farther away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder again that all dialogue Richie speaks from the indie film is taken directly from Richard Siken. The VO scene was from, "A Primer For The Small Weird Loves."


	5. Chapter 5

Between press for _The Boy Who Loves You_ and being on set, it takes no time before days pass and the Losers Club is showing up at Richie’s house. Only Richie finds himself regretting the invitation once he realizes moments before they arrive how difficult it will be to hide what’s happening between him and Eddie. He briefly considers the benefits of putting them all up in a hotel.

“Fuck, Eddie, you’re the responsible one. Why didn’t you have this covered?”

“I don’t know, man. I forgot!” Eddie replies as he’s throwing clothes from the space Richie made for him in his closet into his suitcase. “Here, take that.”

Richie grabs it from him and brings it over to the guest room Eddie used for all of twenty minutes the first night. When he returns, he says, “I can’t believe we didn’t think about how we can’t share a fucking bed with everyone here. Stupid. Why did I suggest this?”

“I can sneak in at night?” Eddie offers as he sweeps through the bathroom they’ve been sharing and grabs the essentials. 

“Maybe this will be kind of hot,” Richie smirks, “Sneakin’ around behind their backs.” He uses his narration voice to say, _“Is Eddie daring enough to sneak out of his room for a blow job? Will he risk the shame and humiliation of being caught by his friends for a booty call? Tune in later tonight to find out!”_

“First of all, I hate you. And second, your voices are so fuckin’ good now they piss me off for an entirely different reason.”

“Which is?”

“You’re really fucking talented and you use them to seduce me. I don’t like it.” He pauses, then amends, “I _kind of_ like it.”

Richie leers at him and creeps in closer. He picks a Sean Connery accent to say, _“I’ve always enjoyed studying a new tongue.”_

“You’re mixing Bonds,” Eddie replies dully.

He tries Vincent Price next, _“It's as much fun to scare as to be scared!”_

“No, dude. That’s creepy. What the fuck?” 

Richie circles behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. He kisses Eddie’s neck and says, “I know what you want.” Then he uses his voice from _The Boy Who Loves You._ It’s soft and sad and effeminate, but it’s raw and Richie knows it drives Eddie crazy so he quotes, “ _He had brown eyes, so I wanted to fuck him.”_ He licks at the shell of Eddie’s ear, _“I wanted to take him home, and rough him up and get my hands inside him.”_ Eddie shivers against him, _“You could drown in those eyes, I said. So it's summer, so it's suicide."_

Eddie is pushing back against him, “You changed the words.”

Richie smiles wide, “Damn, you did watch it a lot. Are you seduced?”

“You seduced me a long time a- _Fuck!”_ Eddie points to Richie’s clock.

“Fuck, shit. Did we get everything?”

“I think so? I don’t know. But we’re both on board with the plan, right? We act like everything is normal. Like we-”

“Like I’m not giving you a hot dicking every night,” Richie interrupts.

“Well, you won’t be after _that.”_ Eddie rolls up the sleeves of his shirt.

Richie stares at him.

“What?”

“You’re just so fucking hot all the time. I just want to toss you on the bed and have my way with you.”

“Because I rolled up my sleeves?” Eddie asks.

Richie nods, “I’m a simple man.”

The doorbell rings and they both swear as they run to the front door.

Turning around, Richie holds Eddie in place. “Wait, go over there. Be… normal.”

“Right,” Eddie walks away and back into the living room to stand awkwardly while Richie answers the door.

Mike is the first to arrive, and his presence alone quickly puts both Eddie and Richie at ease. They just start learning about all the new places he’s been traveling to when Beverly and Ben show. And then Bill is there (without Audra) and it feels good to have the gang together again.

They talk and they drink and Richie shows them to their rooms. He doesn’t remember whose idea it is, but they end up daring each other to jump in the pool. Richie’s not a fan, even though it’s heated it’s still winter. But it is an exceptionally nice day, and when Beverly jumps in, the rest follow.

“Ben!” Richie calls across the pool, “You’re like a Grecian god. It’s disgusting. What the fuck, man? How many abs do you have?”

Richie swims over to him and reaches out to poke his stomach. 

“Stop!” Ben slaps his arm away. 

Mike and Bill are chuckling off to the side. 

Smiling, Bev swims over to Ben’s rescue, “Be nice, Richie.”

“I am being nice! I just told him he looks amazing. It makes me want to wallow in my own inadequacies.” They laugh and he continues, “The studio hired a trainer for me and I’m pretty sure she’s gonna quit because we discovered my body is immune to muscle gain. I can’t believe how much work it is. I’m just really impressed by your super hot bod, man.”

“Well, uh, thanks,” Ben says awkwardly. It makes Richie smile.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches Eddie, sitting outside the pool with his legs dangling in the water. Shirt on, and it makes him frown.

“Eds!” He calls to him and swims over. He stops next to his legs. They’re far enough away from the others that no one hears them. “What the hell, man? Take it off.”

Eddie shakes his head, “No, I have all those scars and I just-” he gestures at Ben.

“Ben’s body is the result of a life of dedication due to a traumatic childhood. People don’t just _look_ like that. Look at Bill. Fuck, look at me, dude. Ben’s a freak.”

Eddie asks, “The scars don’t bother you?”

Richie leans in closer and admits, “I’m kind of obsessed with them, actually.” He lifts at Eddie’s shirt but Eddie holds it down and swats his hands away. “You want the truth? I have a hard time remembering what _really_ happened that day. When I saw you die it was so fucking real, man. He fucking impaled you. Like, fully through your body, you were an Eddie-kabob. He turned you into a donut, dude.”

“Gross.”

“What I’m saying is, I see that in my head, but then I see you healed and walking around. And you’re fine. And I’m just in awe. I _love_ those scars. You know that. And they do too. They don’t care.” He backs away from the wall, splashing him intentionally, and calls, “Take it off!” 

“You asshole!” Eddie kicks the water towards him to get him back, but Richie is already laughing and swimming away. Eddie stands. He throws his now soaked shirt to the side and jumps out as far as he can, splashing Richie. “Oh, fuck! It’s cold!” He says when he comes up.

Richie’s glasses are dripping and he can’t see anything so he wildly strikes out trying to retaliate. But Eddie is splashing him right back with better aim.

“Yeah, don’t like that so much now, do ya?” Eddie taunts him. 

“Stop!” Richie cries out.

Eddie wraps his arms around his neck, latching his legs around his waist, forcing Richie to give him a piggy-back ride. “Come on, bitch!"

Richie laughs, “What, you can’t touch the bottom?”

“What are you talking about, dude? I’m touching you all over.”

Richie freezes with his mouth open. They’re close enough that everyone can hear, so putting on an old lady voice, he says, _“Well, I never!”_ Then he recovers adding, “It was _one_ porno. I was young and needed the money!”

They’re all laughing at him now and Richie feels the warmth burning in his chest. He hasn’t been this happy in a long damn time.

When Richie eventually gets out of the pool to get the food that’s arrived, he opens his phone to text Eddie. He’s been sneaking off to send him dirty messages most of the night, and as far as he can tell, Eddie hasn’t noticed.

_R: The way you moan when you’re bouncing on my dick, and you call ME a bottom?_

Richie hits send. 

Bill helps him get the food set up as everyone changes and filters into the kitchen. They fill their plates and find a place to sit around the table. Eddie and Richie purposefully leave space between them, but there’s plenty of room so it doesn’t seem forced. 

“So, Bev,” Richie asks, “How’d your show go?”

“Good!” She smiles, “Yeah, great. It was an early spring preview. Keeping busy you know.”

“Speaking of that, Rich,” Ben says as he smiles at Bev, “You’re probably going to need a suit, right?”

“Oh, fuck, that’s right,” he hadn’t even considered something to wear to the Awards even though his manager had been pestering him about it. “What do you say, Bev? You gonna hook me up?”

The announcement had been made and it was official, Richie Tozier is an Academy Award nominee.

Mike pats him on the back and says, “Congratulations again, man.” 

“I can get you something to wear that’s red carpet ready. Can’t guarantee the rest of you will be, though,” Bev teases and they laugh. 

“Have you written a speech?” Mike asks.

Richie laughs hard at that, “I’m not going to _win!”_

They all speak at once, insisting that he will. Ben says, “You were really good, man. Seriously.”

Richie mumbles to himself, “You don’t know how weird it is knowing that you all saw that movie.” He shakes his head then looks at Bill, “Tell them I’m not going to win.”

Bill shrugs, “You did an amazing job.”

“Bill, come on,” Richie glares at him. “You _know._ Tell them, do I stand a chance? Honestly. Break it to them now. Don’t lie. They don’t know how it works.”

They all turn to look at Bill. He shrugs again, “Ah, considering the other factors and nominees this year, probably not.”

“Thank you!” Richie gestures at Bill.

Eddie turns to him softly, “You _really_ don’t think you’re going to win?”

“No!” Richie laughs, then using his British accent adds, _“But it’s an honor just to be nominated.”_ Leaning over the spot between them, he asks carefully, “What time do you have on your phone, Eds?” Then he turns back to Beverly, “No, seriously. You have to make something for me. Like, what the hell am I going to wear?”

“Besides a black suit and tie like everyone else?” Bill smiles.

“We’ll give it a little Richie Tozier flair,” Bev winks.

Richie is watching Eddie through the corner of his eye, though, who he knows is scrolling through his missed messages. He smiles wide at the forced blank look on his face and leans in again and asks, “Eds, time?”

“Uh, 8:42,” he says quietly.

“Everything okay, Eddie?” Mike asks.

Eddie laughs nervously, “Yeah, just Myra. She still kind of messages every once and awhile.” He scoffs and stands up, “Something about the condo. Excuse me a minute.” He walks away from the table with everyone except Richie calling after him.

“Hey, we’re getting low on beer. I’ll be right back,” Richie stands. It’s not smooth, but he doesn’t think anyone notices that he follows Eddie.

He goes to the guest room and when he opens the door Eddie is staring at him with wide eyes.

“Fuck, I thought you were the others,” then Eddie’s kissing him, biting at his bottom lip, saying, “Fucking _Trashmouth_. Jesus, were you sending those all day?”

Richie’s kissing him back, “What if I give you a huge hickey to pay you back for all the times I needed to get them covered in makeup? And you have to walk out there all marked up because of me.”

“I’d tell them I was getting hives from the chlorine and no one would suspect a thing,” Eddie shrugs.

Richie laughs against his lips, “Yeah, that’s actually about right.” 

His lips move to Eddie’s neck. Licking and biting and definitely marking him up, and he wonders if the others will notice. He wonders how much time he has with him before he decides to leave California, because it always feels like never enough. Richie finds his way back to his lips while sneaking his hand under his shirt to tease Eddie’s nipple, and he smiles against his mouth when Eddie laughs.

“That tickles,” he whispers, but he’s breathing heavy and he doesn’t swat Richie’s hand away, so Richie doesn’t stop.

It hits him at the weirdest times. He loves Eddie. He loves him so goddamn much he doesn’t want whatever is happening between them to end. And he knows that means a conversation. He needs to know what Eddie’s expecting, but he’s only been in California a few weeks. They’ve only been fucking a few weeks. He can’t just tell him to move in with him. Shape his life around his.

But he wants to. 

Eddie bites Richie’s bottom lip and he swears he can taste blood, “Ow, you dick.” He pulls away to lick his lip, and there’s definitely a little blood. “Aren’t you gonna say something about HIV or hepatitis or some shit?”

“Don’t tickle my nipples,” he playfully slaps Richie’s cheek then points at him.

“That’s not what you said last night.” Richie licks his lip again, it’s swollen, fat and tender, “I don’t know. I might be kind of into this. Get rough with me, Eddie. Fuck me up.”

“You’re already fucked up,” Eddie teases.

“Obviously, how else could I love _you?”_

It slips out. 

He had basically said as much before but never so definitively. And now Eddie is looking up at him, finally realizing he means it, with his jaw slack like he’s about to say something but can’t remember the words. Richie’s about to deflect when the door opens and Eddie pushes away from him like he’s on fire.

“Oh shit, sorry. I thought this was our room,” Ben says. 

Eddie laughs nervously, “I told him his place is too fucking big.” Then he walks out of the room and past Ben. 

Richie follows after him and points down the hallway for him, “That’s yours, man.”

“Thanks,” he smiles and turns for his room. 

He doesn’t say anything else, so Richie doesn’t think they were caught. He should probably be more concerned about it, but he can’t stop thinking about fucking up in the bedroom. He fucking told Eddie he loved him. 

Richie walks back towards the laughter in the dining room. He makes a pit stop in the kitchen, grabbing more beer, then takes a deep breath to face his friends.

“What about you, Eds?” Beverly asks.

Richie sets down the beer and he and Eddie are the only ones to grab one right away.

“What about me?” He asks. He’s tense and uptight, and normally Richie would find it adorable, but it’s obvious that he’s thinking about what happened in the guest room. 

“Yeah,” she smiles, “You’re officially divorced, which I can attest is a great feeling. So, how long are you on vacation?”

“Oh, ah, well,” Eddie takes a long drink from his beer. “I quit my job in New York, so, there’s that. I just couldn’t be there anymore, with the skyscrapers and the nagging, and everything closing in on me.”

Richie’s fingers twitch around his beer while he wants to be reaching out instead, squeezing Eddie’s hand in support.

“Oh, wow. That’s a big change,” Mike says. “What’s the plan now?”

“I’ve applied at a few places,” he glances at Richie. “Got an offer, even.”

“That’s amazing, man,” Mike smiles.

Ben returns and sits next to Beverly, and asks, “On the west coast?”

“Uh, Chicago,” he tips his beer back.

And Richie feels like dying.

It’s a punch to the gut and he tries his best not to react. But he can feel the lump forming in his throat and his chest is constricting.

“Congratulations!” Ben says.

“It’s a really prestigious firm. I’m not really sure if I’m going to take it yet. I have a few others out there, kind of hoping to hear back on. Might just wait and see,” Eddie replies nervously.

Richie watches him as he says it, and feels a little hope but it doesn’t last long because Eddie won’t meet his eyes. And he’s just trying to hold on. The conversation moves on but he doesn’t hear it. 

Eventually the night winds down. They’re all older now, and besides Richie with his weird set hours, the rest of the gang is ready to sleep far before he is. Each one turns in for the night, even Bill decides to stay, while Richie chooses to sit awake and stare at the blank screen of his TV. Eddie makes a show of going to his room with the rest of them and Richie wonders if he’ll actually sneak out or if the spell between them has finally been broken now that reality has set in. 

Eddie’s been looking for jobs. That’s what he’s been working on so tenaciously. He’s getting ready to leave Richie. _That’s_ why he didn’t want to tell Bill. It was just a fling and there’s no use making an announcement over that. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting in the living room with his thoughts. It could be hours. Maybe years. 

“Richie, come to bed,” Eddie’s whispering behind him. 

He turns, half expecting to have imagined him. But he’s standing there impatiently, in his little matching pajama set. Richie almost smiles before he remembers why he was sitting alone in his living room in the first place.

Eddie walks around and grabs his arm, pulling him from his chair. “Come on.” He allows himself to be led down the hall. Eddie turns him into his bedroom then pushes him towards his bathroom. “Brush your teeth!” He orders. And Richie does. 

By the time he’s done getting ready for the night he assumes Eddie will have left, but he hasn’t. He’s waiting on his side of the bed. _His_ _side._ And it _is_ Eddie’s side. And Richie can’t imagine what it’s going to be like without him there.

He pulls back the covers and tucks himself in. Richie doesn’t even realize he is still wearing his glasses when he can see the ceiling clearly.

“Did you mean what you said before?” Eddie whispers.

“What?” He feigns ignorance.

“You know, in the other room. What you said?”

Richie tries not to cry. He doesn’t want to lie to him, but he doesn’t want to hold him back if Chicago is really where he wants to be. “That I love you? Of course, Eds. You know that. I love all you guys.” It’s an echo to what Eddie told him that day that seems so long ago now, but it’s the least damaging version of the truth, and one he can live with. He takes a deep breath. He makes himself ask, “Chicago, huh? I didn’t know you were looking.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. “I told you I can’t live off of you forever.”

“You _could,”_ Richie says, then bites his tongue. 

“What does that mean?"

“Nothing, sorry. Nothing. If you think you’ll be happy in Chicago you should go. Bet you’ll miss swimming in heated pools in the middle of winter, though.”

“I could always come visit.”

“Yeah,” Richie barely speaks.

“Richie-” Eddie starts.

Eddie says his name like he’s trying to let him down easily, and that hurts even more. He doesn’t know what to say so he waits.

Eddie finds his hand and intertwines their fingers. He whispers, “I love you, too.”

Now Richie really wants to cry. He doesn’t know what that means. As friends? Like they’ve been pretending to be while fucking each other every day for weeks. Something more? He said he was done being afraid back in Derry. Done worrying about what Eddie would think. Or the world. That’s why he told him in the first place. And he was sick of lying at work, doing the fucking on-set romance. All the bullshit of hiding, he’ll never escape it and he’s sick of all of it. 

“I’m in love with you, Eds,” Richie admits. “Don’t go to Chicago. That’s gonna kill me. I can feel it ripping me apart already. I don’t know what the hell we are. I don’t know what you want from me or what you expect, but I love you so much it hurts. I mean, if you really want to go and if this is important to you, then of course. You need to do what makes you happy. But, god, Eddie, if I could keep you here with me forever I would. Because I love you so fucking much it scares me. And I know you’ve only been here a few weeks, and this is coming off completely fucking psychotic, but it’s been going on so much longer than that for me. I’ve loved you forever, I just didn’t know. And ever since Derry that feeling has been back. It’s so strong and I can’t stop it. I try to hold it back, I don’t want to scare you away, but Eddie, if there’s even the slightest chance that you’re only going because it’s just a job and expected of you, _please_ don’t go.”

Eddie squeezes his hand and replies so softly, “It’s just an option, Rich. I don’t have to go.”

Richie holds his breath when he asks, “Do you _want_ to?” _Do you want to leave me,_ is what he wants to say.

“Not really.”

Richie lets out a sigh of relief. 

Eddie turns on his side and wraps his arm around Richie, pulling him in close. Eddie teases, “Do you want to be my secret boyfriend?”

“Yes!” Richie nods emphatically, laughing, then he finds Eddie’s lips in the dark. He kisses him hard, “Don’t leave, okay? Move in with me. Permanently. You can be my trophy boyfriend. I’ll find you a boring insurance job at the studio. Anything, just stay.”

“I did apply to a few here too, you know. Chicago’s the only one that’s gotten back to me so far.”

“So you’ve been waiting on the L.A. offers?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Were you ever going to take it?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie admits, “It was more of a safety incase you kicked me out. I wasn’t expecting the offer so soon and I didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

“God, I’m a fucking idiot,” Richie groans into Eddie’s chest. “Are we really, like, actually together now? Or did you just say that to fuck with me?”

“Dude, you’re a grown ass man and you passed me a note to ask me out for our first official date. You think I was going to wait for another one? Take for fuckin’ ever.”

Richie really was feeling like an idiot, “So, is that a yes?”

“Yes!”

Richie laughs, “Does this mean that we’re telling the guys?”

“Uh, I’m not-” Eddie starts nervously, “I just don’t- Like, okay-”

“That sounds like a ‘no.’ Eddie, it’s fine. Really. I’m still too chicken shit to say anything to my manager about it. Believe me, I understand.”

“Okay, fuck. Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Richie,” Eddie sighs.

When he falls asleep, Richie feels more content than he had hours ago. The question that had been burning in his mind for weeks has been answered. Eddie is going to stay in L.A. and they were actually going to give it a shot. It wasn’t just some rebound, he had actually told Richie he loved him.

Bev, and Ben stick around for a while the next day but then have to leave early into the evening for a late flight. Bill leaves with them. Mike stays for several days, which is good because he and Eddie can get all the tourist shit out of their system while Richie has to be back on set. He and Eddie mostly try to keep their hands to themselves. It’s a little challenging but also exciting knowing they could get caught. Bill stops by one last time before Mike leaves, and despite not being as affectionate with Eddie as he wants while they’re around, Richie is still sad to see his friends go.

* * *

Richie doesn’t realize Eddie has been going on interviews until he surprises him one night after work with the news that he’s been offered a position in L.A. Eddie is dressed in a suit and his hair is combed and perfect. He’s bitching about needing to buy a car, and how the commute might suck but it will be worth it because this company offered the best healthcare package. And Richie loves every second of it. He loves _him._ It’s overwhelming and his stomach jumps when he wonders, not for the first time, _Is this really happening?_

He walks over to him without thinking and Eddie is in his arms. He’s holding Eddie’s jaw and they’re kissing. Richie is suddenly so goddamn grateful for every little fucking thing in his life that lead them both to this point. 

Even the stupid fucking clown.

“Fuck me.” He says it as his teeth graze over Eddie’s neck. 

“Is that a suggestion?”

“A demand, Big Dick Eddie,” Richie backs away but grabs Eddie’s tie, wrapping it in his fist, and pulls him toward the bedroom.

“Ow!” Eddie trips along the hallway, “You could fuckin’ choke me, asshole.”

“Ooh,” Richie teases, but doesn’t let go, “Can’t have that. You might find out you’re a kinky little shit.”

“That’s not a joke! Do you know how many autoerotic asphyxiation deaths there are a year?”

“No!” Richie laughs, _“Why_ would I know that? Why do _you_ know that? Anyway, you wouldn’t be alone.”

“You think I’d trust you when I’m all passed out and vulnerable and shit?”

“You do every night,” Richie points out. “Maybe you’d _like_ it,” Richie says as they enter the bedroom. He tugs again on Eddie’s tie, “Maybe you’d fuckin’ _love_ it.”

Eddie frowns at him and says, “Shut the fuck up and get naked.” He pulls his tie from Richie’s grasp and loosens it.

And fuck if that doesn’t go straight to Richie’s dick. 

He decides Eddie’s right and strips quickly, watching him take off his jacket and carefully place it over the back of a chair. Richie lays back on the bed, legs crossed, arms behind his head propping him up to watch the show as Eddie unbuttons his shirt. He’s on the verge of saying something, but doesn’t want to ruin it. And it’s so fucking hot how Eddie doesn’t even realize how much of a cock tease he’s being.

Richie’s hard, when Eddie finally walks over to him. “This is the only time I’m going to say this, and I _will_ deny it if it ever comes up again,” Richie knows it’s a lie, he’d tell him a million times, and as he crawls closer to him he continues, “but you look so fuckin’ badass with those scars, and the way you were stripping off your shirt? Jesus, just fuck me already, Ed.”

Eddie is less insecure now, and he should be with the constant praise Richie is feeding him, so when he turns to him it’s with intent. His eyes are dark. Hungry. And Richie knows he wants to tear him apart. “You talk too much. Shut the fuck up and turn the fuck around.”

Richie does. He makes enough room for Eddie to join him on the bed, and he only looks over his shoulder when he feels Eddie’s hands running up his thighs.

It isn’t the first time they’ve done it like this. He was nervous the first time, but he hoped Eddie didn’t notice. Richie fucking loves it, but in the past it made the work day difficult, so he hasn’t gotten fucked by Eddie nearly as much as he’d like. 

He’s about to say something when he feels Eddie’s hand run over his ass, parting him and fingers grazing along his hole, all ready with lube. Richie bites back a moan, almost embarrassed to let Eddie know just how much he’d kill for the way he touches him. 

Eddie goes cool and dark, knowing what the fuck he’s doing and _exactly_ what he wants. His confidence is intimidating and sexy as hell. He doesn’t warn Richie at all when he pushes a finger inside him, then adds a second. 

Richie hisses, “Fuck, dude.”

“You fuckin’ love it, Rich,” Eddie says back. 

And it’s true, even though he doesn’t want to admit it. Richie loves how fucking rough Eddie is with him. Grabbing his cock, he holds tight at the base while Eddie continues to work him open. Deft fingers stretching and filling him as he tries not to moan.

Eddie doesn’t give him much time to adjust before he hears the condom wrapper being ripped open, then the head of his cock is against him. Richie can hear the smirk in his voice, “Think you can take me like this? I barely opened you at all but you’re always so fuckin’ hungry for it.”

“You’re not _that_ big,” Richie replies, but he doesn’t say _stop_ even as the confidence in his voice waivers.

Eddie’s pushing into him, just slow enough for the hard length of him to sting. He’s right, it’s not enough. It burns, but it kind of feels good. Really fucking good, actually, as long as he doesn’t move. Pain is a reminder of how fucking filthy Richie is for wanting to do this with Eddie for so long. For all those daydreams he had next him in the arcade or movie theater. The sleepovers where they’d be crammed in together. But it was never close enough for Richie. So now he likes the pain, just a little. 

When he pushes in more it’s getting easier. He can feel the lube around him and Eddie’s hand is massaging into the too sensitive, stretched thin skin that’s holding tight to his dick. And the way Eddie is breathing heavily and rubbing his lower back is heaven.

“You look like such a slut with my dick in your ass,” Eddie breathes. “Fuckin’ cock whore, loving every minute.”

Richie bites down, but isn’t successful at holding back his moan. He pushes back onto Eddie, loving the torn way he feels filled by him. It still burns, and Eddie’s fingers are denting into his thighs, pulling him back further onto his dick. 

“Fuck, Richie, this is so fuckin’ hot.”

“We’ll take a picture next time,” he manages to scratch out, but he thinks his legs are shaking.

Eddie laughs, so Richie feels like he accomplished something. But then Eddie begins to thrust, slow at first. And Richie needs to close his eyes. To remember every second about the way Eddie fucks him, starting slow, teasing him, until he finds a good tempo.

The burn is gone and it’s replaced with a warmed, stretched out feeling. Richie reaches beneath himself where his tip is leaking, soaking a spot on the bed. He thumbs over the tip to slick his cock then begins to pull in rhythm while Eddie thrusts faster.

“You make taking my cock look so easy,” Eddie’s breath is short, but Richie can hear the smile in his voice. 

Eddie pulls back on his thighs, changing the angle, and now when he fucks, Richie can _feel_ it. He drags back on that place inside him, over and over, unrelenting, and Richie’s dick couldn’t be harder. Waves of pleasure with each thrust, making his legs tremble more. He feels like he can’t support himself as he lets Eddie fuck him hard. He feels like he’s going to black out. Jesus Christ, Eddie knows what the hell he’s doing, he’s too fucking good. Richie is still trying to pull himself off, but he can only focus on the way Eddie’s using him.

“Fuck, Eddie,” he sighs through thrusts. Then he bites his lip as he spills, coming over his fist onto the sheets.

He feels boneless as Eddie fucks him harder. Too tender now, but he knows Eddie is close by the way his back is arching over him. Then he feels him come, throbbing deep in his ass, wishing Eddie wasn't wearing a condom so he could see the evidence of what they've done leak out as soon as he stands up. Richie smiles at the thought.

Eddie pulls out and collapses next to him, “Fuck!”

Richie laughs silently as he watches Eddie recover. It takes him a moment to get his arm to cooperate, but he lifts his hand lazily, “Good game, champ!” Richie doesn’t think he’ll go for it, but Eddie high-fives him back which makes him smile.

“That’s so much more work,” Eddie grins at him. 

“How’d you learn to do that?” Richie gestures vaguely behind him.

“Fuck you?”

“You fucked the shit out of me, dude. I can’t walk. And like, I was close to coming hands-free. What the fuck?”

“It’s just your prostate, dude,” Eddie closes his eyes. “I read, you know, medical shit.”

“You learned that from reading ‘medical shit’?”

“Yeah, and gay sex blogs.”

Richie laughs.

“Dude, you weren’t complaining.”

“Definitely not complaining about your research,” but he’s laughing at it.

“Fuck you, man,” he says, but he’s smiling.

“Yeah, you just did and now I'm going to pay for it for days,” Richie groans.

“Just a second,” Eddie says, getting out of the bed, but he quickly returns from the bathroom. Throwing him a wet towel to clean himself. 

He does, then Richie’s turns to Eddie and pulls him against himself. “I love your dick so much, Eds. So goddamn much. You’re like an ass-whisperer. You have talents the world should know about.”

“Is your next project going to be a leaked sex tape?”

Richie lifts his head and raises an eyebrow, “Yeah? You want to?”

“Fuck no!”

“Not leak it, idiot,” Richie sighs. “But, you know, I wouldn’t mind one. Christ the video you sent me where you were jerking off? If this were still the 90s I would have worn the tape out with how much I watched it.”

Eddie laughs but says, “No sex tape!” 

“Aww, Eds. Come on. Just think about it at least. Just for us.”

He’s smiling, shaking his head, but Richie is surprised when he relents, “Yeah, fine. I’ll _think_ about it.”

“Victory!” Richie cries.

“You’re in a good mood.”

“Dude, you just laid me the fuck out, man. My legs don’t work. Oh, and also, you’re fucking going to be working in L.A. which means you’re officially _not_ leaving California. Which means, you’re not going to run away from me in the night.”

“You think I’d run away?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t know, man. I mean, I thought you were _straight_ a few months ago. So like, what the fuck, dude?”

Eddie pushes at him, teasingly, “I don’t know, man. Don’t make me think about it. I like you. I like _the_ biggest _dick_ of them all. Apparently I’m at least a little gay.”

“You didn’t go through a huge identity crisis?” Richie asks somberly, settling in next to Eddie with their shoulders touching. “My whole life has been an identity crisis about this. And you’re just fine?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie admits. “It wasn’t like it was easy. I just- there was the divorce first. And then, you know, the stuff on the phone between us.”  
  
“The amazing phone sex, you mean?”  
  
“Shut up,” Eddie pokes him. “Over the phone was easy because it’s not like you were right next to me.”

“Yeah, you liked to hang up. I noticed.”

“Yeah ok, so _that_ was my crisis. Fuck me. I was trying to figure shit out.”

“Then there were the dating apps,” Richie offers next.

“I had to make sure it wasn’t just, you know, whatever the fuck the phone thing was. I already loved you, dude. Richie, of course I’ve loved you forever. But I didn’t want to show up out here and realize that I’d made a huge fucking mistake because I couldn’t follow through. Did I love you as a friend? Was it more than that? I didn’t fucking know. All I knew was that after Derry, my favorite part of life in New York was any day I got to talk to you.”

Richie’s stomach jumps from the confession. He can’t stop himself from teasing, “So, obviously you grabbed the first dick you could find to figure that out?” Richie teases.

“I was very selective! I never got to _experiment_ in college.”

“And?” He doesn’t know why he asks.

“Well, beside it fucking sucking? It wasn’t so bad. I mean, he didn’t mean anything and that part kind of sucked actually, but I wasn’t repulsed so it was worth it.” Eddie sighs, “Honestly, I don’t like thinking about any of it. Like, I’m not ready to announce it to the world because I don’t know what the fuck I’d even say. I still notice women. But looking back, I think I _always_ noticed men, too. Growing up it’s not like that was a realistic option so I ignored it. I guess when I was younger I just figured everyone thought that way and that I was just supposed to be with a woman. You know what I mean?”

“Fuck dude,” Richie offers a sad laugh, “Of course I know. I’m fucking living it, only without the option to be normal. Tried it. Did not work.”

“I’m glad you understand, Richie.” And he does, so fucking much. He knows the pressure and all the reasons why it’s easier to fit in. Happiness is a small thing to sacrifice when fear is so overwhelming.

“So,” there’s one more burning question Richie knows he should stay the hell away from, “Why’d you leave Myra?”

Tilting his head, Eddie says, “It was broken for a long time, man. Shit got fucked up when she was taking care of me. Worse than my mom. Keeping me inside, not letting me walk even in the condo. I had to rely on her for everything. She didn’t like me talking to you or any of the other guys. But she _hated_ you. I think she was jealous because she saw how happy you made me at the hospital. So, I’d have to sneak into another room anytime we talked. Then I found out she was canceling my PT to keep me weak. It was really fucked up. When I realized how bad it actually was I told her I was going to leave. But she promised she’d change. I don’t know why but I thought she deserved a second chance so we started counseling. And she tried, I’ll give her credit for that, she did. But there wasn’t enough left to fight for.” 

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” he offers softly. “I would have come gotten you in a second if I had known.”

“You couldn’t even make it to the reunions,” it sounds bitter and Eddie looks away. “I wanted to tell you about it so many times. I wanted to talk to you, but I just thought you were too busy. I mean, you were on the late night shows, and touring the country, and filming movies. You wouldn’t want to hear about my problems.”

“Eddie,” there’s a lump in his throat, “Eds, the only reason I was so busy was because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I thought you might hate me after what I told you back home. I worked myself so hard just to ignore how much I still fucking loved you. If I would have known-”

“It’s okay, Richie,” he squeezes his hand. “Your film brought back a lot of shit for me too. I mean, watching it and poppin’ a boner makes you get a little introspective. And it was like an immediate flashback of being a kid and feeling ashamed and pushing it all down, focusing only on girls. But here I’m sitting next to my wife, not understanding why I’m working on an obviously failing marriage, and you’re on screen giving me a stiffy.”

Richie laughs a little at that, “Still think it’s weird you get a boner from that movie. Were you still together when we started fucking around?”

“The first couple times.” Eddie closes his eyes, “It’s fucked up, I know.”

Richie didn’t really mind, not now that he knew what Myra had done to Eddie. “Did you tell her about me?”

He still won’t meet Richie’s eyes when he admits, “No, but I think she knew there was someone else. Like,” he sighs, “I didn’t leave her for _you,_ you know? It was fucked up, really fucking bad, and I left her for _me.”_

“But you knew you had a hot piece of ass on the back burner to demolish, so that didn’t hurt.”

Eddie laughs, “You know how terrified I was to come out here? With the fucking, plane ride, and the fires, and earthquakes. You weren’t meeting up with us and I felt like I was risking everything just to spend a little time with you. I just wanted to see you again, man. I didn’t have any expectations. I mean, you’re surrounded by the hottest people on the planet, posting pictures of fucking Amelia, so what the fuck do _I_ have to offer you?”

Richie pulls him in close, “You’re my Spagheds!” Eddie doesn’t fight him, so he kisses him and says, “I love you so fucking much, there’s no one on the planet more perfect for me than you.”

“I love you too, Rich. I don’t think I’ve-” he stops, and tilts his head away before trying again, “I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, Richie.”

Leaning into him again, Richie kisses him. Leisurely tasting, licking into his mouth, biting and sucking on his bottom lip. With Eddie in his arms he feels like he’s finally home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote from the indie film that Richie uses is slightly modified from, "Little Beast " in Crush by Richard Siken.
> 
> Also, just a heads up but I'm a few miles from the protests/riots in Minneapolis right now... so I will get the remaining chapters posted as soon as I can, but there's lots of stuff going on here right now.


	6. Chapter 6

Nearing the end of the production Richie is asked to increase the amount of press with Ryan, the his co-star of the indie film. His schedule is packed and he barely sees Eddie and it is fucking killing him, but he knows it’ll be over soon. During interviews he tries to be funny and charming while remaining authentic to the character’s story. Nearly every interviewer asks about his hot new romance with Amelia. He laughs through it and won’t commit to any solid answer, which only drives the media more wild with speculation.

But he comes home to Eddie who kisses him until his heart aches in disbelief that he is lucky enough to have him. He still can’t believe that Eddie is stupid enough to want  _ him. _

Richie is relieved when they wrap on  _ Heist to Meet You. _ Though, the rumors (that  _ he _ is responsible for promoting) don’t end. Interviewers still ask and he still evades, but he is exhausted from the lies. 

When his manager calls he even suggests that Richie bring Amelia to the Academy Awards, and that is where he draws the line. 

“No, Jason! I’m done with the film so I’m done with this bullshit. And did it ever occur to you I might have someone else I want to bring? Jesus. I whored myself out enough for the studio under contract, I’m not going to do it for free.”

Richie hangs up on him. Then walks directly across the room to angrily kiss Eddie as if to prove the point to himself.

“Uh, hi?”

“Hi,” Richie crosses his arms and drops himself next to him on the couch. “You want to go to the Oscars with me?”

“Like as your date, or as your assistant?”

“Fuck it. Yeah, as my date.”

“Are you serious?” Eddie almost drops his laptop.

“Yeah!” Richie starts thinking about it, “Hell yeah, man. Look, I’ve been trying to figure out how to do this. Might as well just show up to the red carpet with a man. Maybe they’ll figure it out on their own and it won’t have to be some huge announcement.” 

“Dude, literally every single person on the red carpet is going to ask who the fuck I am. You’re nominated for  _ Best Actor, _ they’re not going to let you just slide by.”

“I’ll pull a Parker/Stone and talk around it. Or fuck it, I’ll just start making out with you until they get the picture.”

“They’ll definitely think it’s a publicity stunt.”

“Fuck what they think. Come on, man.”

“No, dude,” Eddie shakes his head. “No. I can’t. All the people there, and fucking, it’s the fucking _Oscars,_ dude. That’s insane. No.”

“The fucking Oscars!” Richie’s smiling, shaking his shoulder excitedly, “Please come. Come on. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have next to me that night.”

A smile slowly breaks across the corner of Eddie’s mouth, “Are you actually serious? You _ really _ want me there?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Eddie’s still smiling but he’s shaking his head, “No, man. This is crazy.”

“If you don’t want to come as my date, then come as my friend. Okay? Jonah Hill brought his mom. And since I can’t bring  _ your _ mom, I guess  you’ll have to do,” Richie nudges him.

“Fuck you.”   
  
“No, for real. You’re the friend from Derry. I saved your fucking life, you know the bullshit. And  _ now  _ I’m bringing you to the Oscars. They’ll eat that shit up. Come on, man.” The more he thinks about it the more he wants Eddie to share that night with him. “Who else is going to console me after I lose? I’m going to be beside myself, sobbing tears of all my broken dreams.”

“You’re not going to lose, dude,” Eddie replies.

“Broken, man. Tears. Fucking, full out waterworks. And yeah, I am, but that’s not the point. Come with me. Pleeease?” 

“Fine!” Eddie sighs, but he’s still smiling. “Fine!  _ Not _ as your date, but Jesus when else am I going to get the chance to go to the fucking Oscars?”

Richie hugs him, “Fuck. Let’s call Bev. We need to get you a suit.”

They argue for a while about what they’re going to tell her. If they admit that they’re dating and Eddie’s been unofficially living with Richie for almost two months they’ll both feel weird about hiding it. Finally they hype each other up enough, gather their balls, and decide to tell her that Eddie is his  _ date. _ At the very least  _ she _ (and by extension the rest of the Losers Club) can know, even if they’re not ready for the world to. But when Richie tells her, she doesn’t realize he means _date_ non-platonically. 

And since he’s chicken shit he can’t find a way to correct her. So, he’s still a fucking coward, but Eddie doesn’t mind. He’s just as nervous as Richie is so they decide it’s for the best, maybe they’ll tell her in person.

They have fittings, which Beverly personally attends to, but neither one can find a way to admit they’re dating. They both forget about it quickly enough, falling into their routine, bickering and acting the same as always, until Richie sees the way Eddie’s suit fits him. And fuck the deviant god that created formal wear. He wants to kiss him right in front of her. And fuck it, he’s going to. He’s going to walk right over to him and kiss him and Beverly can figure out the rest. 

But when Eddie seems to notice Richie’s intention, he turns away, wide-eyed in alarm. 

Richie can tell he’s embarrassed, so he doesn’t do it, even though he’s dying to. He still has a dopey smile on his face, though, shaking his head to Eddie, trying to communicate,  _ It’s not the right time to tell her. Fine. I’ll keep my hands to myself. _

On the drive home, Richie takes a deep breath and tries again, “Let’s do it for real. I want to come out. I don’t like having to hide being with you.”

He’s waiting for a fight. Richie’s already coming up with the reasons they should come out when Eddie smiles at him and says, “Yeah, okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We fucking took down that evil bitch clown. What could be worse than that?”

“Yeah!”

“Besides, I’m getting sick of seeing you in all those interviews, fucking, laying it on thick about Amelia."

“I don’t _ lay it on thick,” _ Richie laughs. “You watch those? You’re  _ jealous?”  _ Richie teases.

“No,” Eddie insists, “I’m not jealous, asshole.” He pouts for a second then adds, gesturing wildly with his hands, “It’s just, everyone online won’t shut the fuck up about it and it’s pissing me off!”

“Yeah,” he smiles wide and picks a feminine voice,  _ “You need to claim yo man!” _ Richie continues, “Okay. We’ll do this then. We’ll come out. In front of millions of people. And it will be totally cool and not the worst experience of our lives.”

“Well, it definitely won’t be the worst experience of our lives,” Eddie agrees.

“Should we tell the guys, you know, before?” Richie asks. “I mean, I was going to tell Bev-”

“No, fuck it. They’ll be watching. They can figure it out.” Eddie laughs, “I can just see them watching and like, they’ll think you’re just pulling some shit trying to piss me off.”

“Yeah, and they’ll know it’s not a bit as soon as they see that you’re not shitting bricks every time I put my hand around you,” he laughs. “Fuck,” Richie sighs and grips tensely around the wheel, “Are we really going to fucking do this?”

“Yeah!” Eddie says, just as keyed up, “Hell yeah, we are!”

* * *

“I can’t do this,” Eddie is pacing through the bedroom fully dressed in his suit, shaking his hands. “Richie, I can’t do this. There are going to be-” he sits on the bed and takes a deep breath, “Fucking, George Clooney. Matt Damon. Fucking, Meryl Streep, she’s always there, right?” He stands and begins pacing again. “LEONARDO DICAPRIO!” he yells to the room.

Richie should be calming him down but he’s just as fucking nervous and he feels like he’s going to rip his hair out as he tries to make himself look presentable in the mirror and fails, “Why didn’t I hire someone for this shit?” The worst part is that his nerves have nothing to do with being at the Academy Awards and everything to do with how he was going to fucking come out with his boyfriend on the red carpet in front of millions of people.

“Jason told you to and you laughed at him,” Eddie reminds him.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Richie puts the comb down and leans against the counter, trying to take a deep breath. His heart is racing and he’s definitely going to puke.

“I can’t do it, Richie,” Eddie says again.

And Richie actually feels really okay about that.

“What if we go back to the original plan? Just, you know, two bros going to the Oscars together? Cash in on that sweet Saved Your Life PR?” He picks up his comb and tries again to figure out what the fuck his hair is doing.

Eddie sits down and thinks for a minute. He purses his lips and looks ahead, Richie knows he’s calculating it out in his mind. Then he stands again suddenly, shaking his head, “I can’t do it! I can’t fucking do it. I was watching videos from last year and there are too many fucking people. _ Everyone _ is going to be talking to you. Like, fucking everyone. Like,  _ everyone. _ And it's going to be broadcasted nationally! I can’t- Richie, I can’t do it.”

Richie drops his comb and goes over to Eddie. When he starts patting down his pockets, absently searching for his inhaler, Richie knows he’s moved past adorable, uptight anxiety, and launched directly into Actual Fucking Panic Attack. Richie steadies him by holding onto his upper arms and soothes, “Eddie, hey. It’s fine. You’re okay. Take a deep breath.”

His eyes are so wide when he shakes his head, “I can’t do it, Rich. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Richie hugs him tight. “It’s okay, man.”

“God, do you hate me?  _ Fuck,” _ he swears and breaks away from Richie, shaking his hands, pacing again.

But Richie takes a deep breath, “Eddie, I’m freaking the fuck out too. And not about the nomination. It’s okay, really. It’s fine.” And it was. As soon as Eddie said he couldn’t do it, Richie felt a wave of relief wash over him.

He wants to tell people, he does. But at the fucking Oscars? What the hell were they thinking? It was a stupid fucking idea.

“Richie, I’m sorry,” he looks like he’s going to cry.

Richie reaches out to him again. Cupping his jaw he kisses him then lets go, leaning against his forehead he says softly, “I fucking love you, man. It’s not the right time. It’s okay. Really. I’m more than one thousand percent okay with this.” He hurries to add, “I mean, I want you to come. I’m just losing my shit about this whole stupid idea.”

Eddie’s nodding against him, “Yeah. Okay. Yeah. So, I’ll just stay home then?”

Richie kisses him again. He said  _ home _ like it’s his (and it is), but he means it, and that means more to him than Richie realizes.

“Yeah, but you still have to help me get the fuck ready.”

Eddie laughs against him and pulls away, “Yeah, okay.” Then he frowns again, like he’s finally seeing Richie for the first time all day. “What the fuck did you do to your hair?”

Richie shrugs, “I fuckin’ told Jason that I didn’t need an entourage to help me get ready, apparently. What the  _ fuck _ is wrong with me? I’m a fucking nominee and I’m just like,  _ Fuck this. I’ll do it myself! _ What the fuck?”

Eddie laughs, “Come on.” Then steers him into the bathroom.

He’s able to make Richie look presentable. Damn good, actually. He helps him with his suit and Eddie’s calmed down considerably by the time Richie’s ready to leave. The driver has been waiting for too long and he can’t put it off anymore.

“Richie,” Eddie frowns. “I’m really sorry I can’t-”

“Ed, it’s fine,” he kisses him. “Honestly, it’s okay. Wait-”

“What?” Eddie furrows his brow.

“What if the driver picks you up before the end and then we go to the afterparty together? No one’s gonna give a fuck about me by that point. You look so fucking hot in that suit and we had Bev make it just for tonight. Let’s not waste it. The after party is just like a circle jerk where they dish out free shit and everyone gets fucked up.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been reading about that. You know you have to pay taxes on that shit, right? They say it can be upwards of like $100,000.”

“Yeah, man. Come on. Help me get the good shit, then you can talk dirty to me about the IRS all night long.”

Eddie’s eyeing him skeptically, “I don’t know.”

“You can hide in the car if it gets to be too much. We’ll just make a quick appearance, grab our shit and leave. Then we’ll come home, and I’ll fuck the shit out of you while you’re wearing that suit, because damn, Eddie-” Richie trails off as he gets closer, ready to kiss him. “You’re wearing suspenders,” he adds like it explains everything.

Eddie laughs and pushes him away, “I’ll fuck _ you _ in it, maybe.”

“Oh, shit, I’m gonna pop a boner right here. I’m holding you to that.” Richie’s hands are under Eddie’s suit jacket, and he’s playing with his suspenders, “So you’ll go with me to the afterparty?”

“And then fuck you so hard you can’t walk after? Sure,” Eddie agrees, rolling his eyes. “Did you ever write a speech?”

“No! I told you, I’m not going to win,” Richie pulls his hands out and sighs, “It has nothing to do with my performance or the merit of the film. When you have an old ass actor who's been critically acclaimed for decades and has never won, nominated for a fucking  _ biopic _ , up against a nobody who until very recently was making a living primarily on shitty girlfriend jokes, the  _ nobody  _ doesn’t stand a chance in hell. I’m not being modest. I’m not trying to alleviate my nerves. I watch a lot of fucking films, I’ve been in the industry a while, and there’s no way in hell I have a legitimate chance.  _ Bill _ gets it!” He shrugs, “I mean, okay, I can admit that apparently my performance was poignant enough that they wanted to commend me for it. But there’s a lot going on here. They’re trying to win a PR battle and cash in on those sweet LGBTQ dollars. But most importantly, they’re not going to sully the name of the  _ Awards _ by giving, fucking, Richie  _ Trashmouth  _ Tozier an Oscar for  _ one _ fucking performance.”

Eddie tries to hold back a smile when he says, “Look, you had a speech written all along.” He punches Richie in the shoulder playfully.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“No,” Eddie smirks back, “Fuck  _ you. _ Later tonight.” He grabs him in a tight embrace, and pats the back of his head, “I love you, Rich. I’m proud of you. I’ll be watching.”

“Yeah, you better. I’m gonna quiz your ass later.” He takes a deep breath and says seriously, “Okay, I’ll tell my driver to come pick you up for the afterparty. How do I look?”

Eddie smiles at him and nods, “You look great, Richie.”

He gives Eddie one last kiss and then walks to the car waiting for him. The drive goes too fast for his liking. He’s beyond relieved that he’s not coming out, but he knows there’s a whole other game of bullshiting ahead of him for the night.

The red carpet goes as well as Richie could hope for without the anticipation of showing up with a man, except everyone is still stumbling over themselves to talk to him. They ask him who he’s wearing and he drops Beverly’s name as much as he can. He ends up spending the most time with Ryan because everyone loves seeing them together. He makes jokes and accepts the compliments. He offers platitudes of being honored by the nomination, and he’s only a little resentful that suddenly everyone is kissing his ass when a year ago no one gave a shit.

Richie tries not to think about what it would be like if Eddie were at his side, because he feels more than a little relieved that he’s not, but it doesn’t have anything to do with Eddie. Coming out on the red carpet would have been a fucking disaster and the evening is stressful enough without navigating  _ that _ shit show. On top of that, it’s one thing to place that pressure on himself, but to put it on Eddie, who doesn’t know what the sting of the spotlight can feel like, would have been entirely selfish. 

When he has a free minute he pulls out his phone and denies any tears that may be in his eyes when he reads through all the messages of support he's received. He stops when he sees the textbook Eddie sent him.   
  


_ Eddie: Richie, the last few weeks have been the best of my life. I’m so fucking proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. And I know when you hear any praise you get deflective and brush it aside, but take a minute to appreciate where you are and know that your talent brought you there. I love you, asshole.  _

_ Eddie: You look fucking hot on TV in that suit, by the way. I’m gonna tear your ass apart tonight. _

Richie laughs to himself as he replies.

_ Richie: You better. _

He puts his phone away and gets shown to his seat, then settles in for a seventeen hour snooze-fest. Once the spotlight isn’t on him anymore, he starts to regret Eddie not being by his side. He berates himself once again for not being brave enough to have him there. And it’s fucking stupid. And it hurts. All he wants is to hold Eddie’s hand and not have it be a huge, fucking, possibly career ending deal.

He applauds on cue, laughs at the appropriate moments, and fights the urge to open his phone because he knows the camera is on him all night. 

And when they announce his category, he isn’t surprised at all when he doesn’t win. Laughing to himself, the only thing he really wants to do is text Eddie,  _ I fucking told you so! _

Throughout his networking crawl back to where Eddie texted the driver is waiting, he’s nervous that he’ll change his mind about the afterparty. 

“Eddie!” He calls out as he climbs into the back while rolling up the privacy partition. Once he closes the door, he asks, “Are you still gonna fuck me in the ass so I can get screwed twice tonight?”

Eddie's eyes dart nervously to the driver in the front seat but he gives Richie a hug, and says, “Hey, I’m so sorry, man.”

“Come on,” Richie dismisses him. “Let’s get this bullshit over so you can fuck me up.”

Richie knocks on the partition, and it rolls down. “We won’t be long. Thanks for waiting.”

“That’s his job,” Eddie says. “Since when are you polite?”

As they leave the vehicle, Richie replies, “I’m courteous as fuck.” 

Eddie laughs, until they’re walking into the theater. Suddenly the lights and the glamour are surrounding Richie again. Only it’s loud and the entire ambiance has changed. Laughter rings out through all rooms, cheers and drunk celebrations have been on-going all evening leading up to the party. 

Richie can tell Eddie’s trying to play it cool around the celebrities. He had a little practice at the studio, but even Richie can admit that awards night is a different beast. Richie makes sure Eddie gets a drink as they continue to mingle and once he’s a few in he seems to relax considerably. 

Some reporters wave Richie over and he reluctantly speaks to them about his heartbreaking experience of not being able to come home with an engraved statue. Eddie stands way the hell back, and watches as he spews bullshit about how happy he is for the other guy. Then he quickly thanks them to find Eddie again.

“Fuck, dude. You’re good at this,” Eddie remarks. “You’re like an actual adult now. Fuckin’ bizaare.” 

Richie laughs, and they wander,  _ “Yo man is a Hollywood star!” _ Whatever voice he was going for he doesn’t think is successful because he’s definitely feeling his own alcohol at this point, but Eddie laughs anyway. 

The further in they walk the more it turns into wall-to-wall celebrities. A few come up to Richie, offering their apologies and complimenting him on his performance. When they talk to Eddie he does his best to appear like a normal human and not a star-struck freak, and Richie knows he’s probably giving him a dopey smile, but he’s so glad that Eddie’s there he can’t help it. The first person who asks for an introduction, Richie turns to him and says, “This is my best buddy, Eds-  _ Eddie. _ ” He corrects. And he definitely might be a little drunk, “Eds almost died but I saved his life.”

He’s surprised when they know the story, but he’s glad it gives Eddie something to talk about. Because Eddie’s at ease and laughing with the Hollywood elite, or at least those on the way up, not yet jaded by the glitz. 

Eddie slaps his hand on Richie’s chest, “I stabbed him first. I slowed him down for you.”

“Yeah, with your face,” Richie laughs and points at the scar on his cheek. It’s barely noticeable now.

Eddie laughs though, “I pulled the knife out of my fucking face and stabbed his chest, asshole. Lets see you do that.” 

The blonde actress nearest to Eddie (Richie thinks he saw her in a comic book movie but can’t place her) grabs his arm and asks, “Did you really?"

“Yeah, yeah. Look at the scar,” and Eddie’s turning his face so she can see.

And that’s a sight that Richie doesn’t enjoy one goddamn bit; some beautiful up-and-comer latched to Eddie’s arm. And he’s told Richie he’s still interested in women. So before she gets too comfortable, Richie politely pulls him away to find more people to talk to. Eddie doesn’t notice his jealousy, but Richie recognizes it for what it is. He isn’t secure at all with their relationship, even if things are going well. Richie still worries it might just be a phase for Eddie. 

They mingle with a few other people before Richie turns to him, too excited, “Oh shit, Eddie!” Richie grabs his arm, “Oh fuck, let's go in there.”

“In where?” Eddie’s trying to look around him.

“The Adam & Eve suite. Let’s go get some free dildos!” Richie puts his hands on Eddie’s shoulders to navigate him through the crowd in the right direction.

“What? No! No!” Eddie shrugs him off. “No. You go. I’ll stay here.”

He doesn’t think Eddie means it as a dare, but he takes it that way. He thinks it’ll be funny. When he walks in the room he’s very aware that people are watching, but fuck it. He wants some free sex shit. Once they realize he was a nominee, they come over right away to give him a bunch of stuff in a bag. 

They offer to give him vibrators and assure him that Amelia will be very pleased, but he keeps saying, “What about for men? For me.” Then he laughs and says, “Let’s be real, I’m chronically single.” 

So they find some more products, he’s pretty sure he saw a fleshlight but didn’t ask questions, and when he walks out and back over to Eddie, he feels proud of himself for following through. 

Eddie’s found another starlet, so Richie says a little too loudly and very intentionally, “I think they gave us butt plugs!” And holds up the bag.

Eddie looks like he wants to die, which makes Richie laugh.

The girl looks annoyed at the intrusion until she realizes who he is. She drops Eddie and turns to him, overemphasizing her flirtation, “Do you need someone to practice with?”

Richie laughs harder through saying, “Ah, no, thank you.” Richie grabs Eddie’s arm and pulls him around. “Eds, you’re making me jealous.”

“You’re the one that ran off to go get butt plugs. Did they really give you butt plugs?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t really check,” Richie laughs again.

They try other rooms, this time Eddie joins him, and Richie’s honestly as shocked as Eddie at the free shit they’re giving away. Promotional vacation packages, liposuction deals which he quickly turns to Eddie to say, “Yeah, you already had that done the Derry way, right Eds?” Then he pats his stomach. Eddie flips him off and they move on to the next room. Eddie tells him what to get, he’s not really paying attention, just enjoying that Eddie’s actually there with him and enjoying himself.

Before long Richie gets tired of the scene. He’s watching Eddie too closely, catching glimpses of his suspenders is turning him on, and soon Richie is leaning in, asking, “You really gonna fuck me in that suit? Because I’m having a  _ hard _ time keeping my hands off of you.” He nudges him, “Hard? Get it?” Then whispers probably too loudly, “Because I have a boner.”

Eddie stands straight and looks around, hoping no one heard him. But he doesn’t chastise Richie, only asks, “Do you want to leave?”

“Yeah, fuck it. I made my appearance and got my free shit. Let’s leave,” Richie tries his best not to touch him in an obvious way, but he has his hand on his elbow, then back, then splays his arm across Eddie’s shoulder, as they stumble their way back to the car.

Even with the privacy partition down, neither one is brave enough to do anything but sit close and whisper.

“God, I’m so sorry I didn’t go to the ceremony,” Eddie says, “I should have been there for you. Like, you sat next to me on my deathbed and I can’t fucking go to the Oscars because famous people are there? What the fuck?”

Richie’s nudging his head back at him, “Ed, it’s fine. Like, I’m  _ actually _ fine. I’m not secretly heartbroken about not winning or some shit. And honestly it would have been a dick move to come out like that. Like, Jesus, Eddie,  _ you _ would have been plastered over all the headlines, not just me. It’s not like you asked for that. Like, being out is one thing, telling the Losers, yeah that’s fine. But fucking announcing it to the world like that? It’s stupid. I still haven’t told Jason. He would have been pissed about it.” Richie considers a moment, “Maybe delighted. Not sure.”

“You should have won,” Eddie says.

“Please don’t make me repeat the script I’ve been saying for the last two hours, man. Haven’t you heard it enough?  _ He deserved it. It’s an honor to just- _ blah fuckin’ blah. I’m just so glad this night is over. I can finally get out of the spotlight. I’m officially retiring.”

Eddie’s finger is tracing lazy patterns on Richie’s knee when he asks, “You’re not really quitting are you?” 

“Unfortunately, no,” Richie smiles and uses his _The Boy Who Loves You_ voice _,_ _“I have to keep my man in the lifestyle which he’s grown accustomed to._ Besides I have SNL in like, two weeks. The special is finally dropping on Netflix and I think they wanted to cash in on the Oscar buzz, but scheduling conflicted with the- _nevermind,”_ Richie sighs. “Anyway, SNL is in two weeks.”

“You’re going to New York?”

_ “We _ are, if you’ll come with me.” Richie smiles at him feeling bold, “Maybe you can get the rest of your things from storage? Move in officially.”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s eyes light up and it makes Richie’s heart feel heavy.

“You weren’t going to start looking at other places, were you?” 

Eddie shrugs, “I had a few showings lined up. I didn’t want you to think I was just going to live off of you.”

Richie pushes him, “No! Don’t do that. Live off of me, please?”    


The car stops outside Richie’s house before he gets an answer. Richie tips the driver then they stumble and laugh up his steps and into his house.

“Come on, Eds,” Richie’s hands are under Eddie’s suit jacket and he’s walking backwards, tugging at his suspenders, pulling him towards the bedroom. “Be my trophy boyfriend. Come with me to New York. Show me the, fucking, I don’t know Statue of Liberty or some shit.”

“Who’s the tourist now?” Reluctantly, Eddie lets Richie pull him down the hall. “Living together is a pretty fucking big deal, dude. I mean, are we going to split the costs? I don’t think I can afford half of this place. And I want to have my own space, you know?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Richie pulls him close, kissing him, then says against his lips, “You can remodel however you want just leave my office alone and we’re good. I’ll pay for everything, or you can pay for half, or a third. Whatever the fuck you want to do.” He kisses him again.

“We’re gonna talk about this,” Eddie says, kissing him back. “I’m not just gonna move in without talking about expectations-” Richie kisses him. “And division of labor-” Eddie kisses him again.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” They’ve made it into the bedroom and Richie’s throwing his jacket to the floor in a pile.

Eddie pulls away, “Dude, you can’t just-”

“Shut up,” Richie’s pushing against him and rubbing his hand over Eddie’s dick, trying to get him more interested in what they could be doing than the clothes he’s discarding. “Jesus, why aren’t you fucking me?” Richie throws his phone behind him on the bed then sits. Making a frame with his fingers he closes one eye and extends his arms to look through the window he’s made at Eddie, “Maybe I’m just used to the polos, but you look like a model. Bev knows her shit, that suit looks amazing on you.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes but steps between Richie’s legs. He reaches out for Richie’s tie and pulls him into a kiss.

“You’re really gonna make me fuck you with this thing on?”

“Yeah, I mean, you won’t wear those little short-shorts for me so this is all I have.” Richie loosens his tie then pulls it over his head. He starts unbuttoning his shirt, but Eddie swats his fingers away to do it for him. “You know, with the high socks and the fanny pack?” He adds.

“You have an unhealthy fixation with the image of me as a kid, you know that?”

“Formative years boners, man. I can’t control it.” 

Eddie’s hands move to his pants as Richie pulls his arms out of his shirt. He throws it across the room, then loses his undershirt as Eddie continues to tease at his cock over his pants. He lays back and just allows himself a moment to feel good. The alcohol is settled in. He feels loose and relaxed and so fucking good. 

Eddie tells him to hurry up and get naked, so he does. He crawls onto the bed and is surprised that there’s lube next to where his phone landed. He throws it over to Eddie, “Look at you, Boy Scout. Always prepared. Where’s the condom? Oh, god-” Richie pushes into the mattress, “Don’t say you’re gonna fuck me raw. I’ll blow my load right now.” 

Eddie’s hands run over his bare ass and he shivers when he says, “I don’t have to.”

Richie looks back at him in that fucking tight suit, suspenders glimpsing out, “Oh, no. You  _ definitely _ are.”

“Can I take the jacket off at least?” Eddie asks.

Richie considers it a moment, then remembers the suspenders, “Yes.”

The way he drapes it delicately over the chair has Richie shaking his head, but soon he’s back and his hands are on Richie’s ass again. Eddie complains, “Lube is gonna get all over these pants.”

“I’ll buy you ten thousand pants, just get your dick inside me already.”

Eddie laughs at him but Richie doesn’t care. He’s hard and he wants to feel Eddie all over him. He wants the ache inside to remind him of what they have. Eddie doesn’t spend much time prepping him before he’s pushing in slowly. And the burn is perfect.

Richie is on his knees, looking over his shoulder at Eddie who’s gripping his hips while he’s balls deep inside him, letting him adjust. Eddie’s sleeves are rolled and fuck those suspenders, he looks gorgeous with sweat beading on his brow. 

Richie wants to remember this night forever. “Eds,” he whines. 

“What?” His breath is shaky. 

“Video? Did you think about it?”

“No video, dude. Come on.”

Richie moves forward then pushes back, fucking himself on Eddie’s cock, “Please Eddie?”

He’s sighing and says, “No, Rich.”

Richie pouts when he pulls off and pushes back, “Worst night of my life, Eds. How about a picture at least? To cheer me up.”

Eddie grabs him by the hips and pulls back hard, and fuck, Richie feels it too deep. Then he pulls out, barely dragging his dick, and pushes himself back in, way too goddamn slow. And Richie moans through the entire thing.

“Please, Eddie?” He tries again.

Eddie’s hands move to his shoulders, and he scratches down Richie’s back, “Love the sound of you begging.”

“I’m taking that as a ‘yes.’” Richie grabs his phone, flips it to selfie mode then extends his arm and Eddie doesn’t stop him.

While Eddie’s pushing back into him, Richie takes a picture. He tells him to smile, but Eddie seems determined to keep him distracted. He has to set the phone down a few times when Eddie starts to fuck him with intention. 

“Fuck,” Richie’s holding his eyes closed, resisting the urge to jerk himself off, trying to last as long as he can. Eddie’s going to bruise him, he can tell by the way his hips hurt. He loves when Eddie roughs him up.

But he’s determined to take a picture, so he gets his phone out again. To slow Eddie down he says, “Let’s tell the gang. We were gonna come out to  _ someone _ tonight. Come on.” He’s breathless when he says it, but he’s proud he got it out.

And Eddie does falter when he says, “Not while - I’m - fucking you!”

“Come on, it’ll be funny!” Richie has the phone ready.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Eddie gasps, holding his hips, thrusting in. 

“You won’t even be in it!”

“Sure,” he says sarcastically, adding, “I know you’re not gonna do it anyway. So, hurry up,” Eddie laughs as he thrusts into him impatiently, and Richie moans.

He positions himself again between thrusts, and takes a few more pictures. One with Eddie’s head in the frame, a few just as he’s thrusting in, and one while Richie is giving a thumbs up and a stupid smile that actually makes Eddie stop and laugh. They’re blurry and don’t show that much, except obviously Richie’s taking it up the ass from someone in a suit. But he looks happy and his hair is disheveled and he lost his glasses a while ago even though the whole point was to watch Eddie fuck him.

“It’s not a complete waste. I’m still coming out tonight. At least to them.” Giggling like an idiot, he says, “I’m gonna send it!”

Eddie’s still thrusting. “You don’t have the balls,” he laughs.

“Oh, I’m gonna do it!” He types through thrusts, reading out loud for effect, “ _ Hi from a couple of Losers!” _

“You won’t!” Eddie taunts.

But Richie’s hand hits post and he’s sending the picture to group chat. Eddie’s only visible from the shoulders down, in the suit Bev will recognize, while he’s fucking Richie. It doesn’t show anything too graphic of him, but his shoulders are bare and he’s giving a stupid thumbs up and a drunken dopey smile. 

It certainly looks authentic.

Richie laughs and pushes his phone to the side, “Did it, bitch!”

“You,” Eddie thrusts into his hard, “Fucker.”

“Christ, fuck me like you mean it, Eds,” he finally drops his head and pushes his ass back.

Eddie does. He works him hard, and Richie can feel the ache inside. It went from pleasure to burn some time ago, but the pain is starting to feel nice again too. His hand finds its way to his cock and he’s stroking with intention now, with the visual of Eddie fucking him in a suit strong in his mind. He feels the way Eddie’s hands rub over his ass, spreading him open to watch, then back to his hips, holding so tight he can’t wait to see the bruises. 

Neither one lasts long after that. Eddie’s coming inside him and Richie’s spilling over his hand and they both collapse on the bed. 

Breathing heavily for a moment, Eddie sits suddenly digging in his pants pocket.  He throws his phone near Richie, and then lays face down next to him. “I _ seriously _ thought you sent that picture, asshole,” he mumbles into the pillow.

“I did!” Richie insists. He’s not really alive at the moment. He just needs a minute for his body to remember how to function. 

“I never got a message,” Eddie replies, showing him his phone.

Richie lifts his head up, “Huh. Must not have gone thr-  _ oh, fuck!”  _ He bolts up and grabs his phone. Opening app after app, he checks. “Motherfucker!  _ Fuck!” _

There it is on Twitter. The picture of Eddie fucking him, and Richie with a stupid drunk grin, and the caption,  _ Hi from a couple of Losers! _

And Richie is dead inside. 

He drops the phone enough for Eddie to see the screen, “-the fuck? What the fuck did you do? You posted it on  _ Twitter?!” _

“Not on purpose!” 

“Delete it! Delete it!” Eddie shoves his phone back in his hands.

Richie deletes it. “Fuck. That’s not gonna do any good. Shit.”

“What, why? It’s gone now, right? It wasn’t up long.”

“That’s not how the internet works! Fuck.” He stands, and carefully walks to the bathroom to clean himself up. He runs his hands under cold water and splashes some on his face. Trying to calm his shaking hands, he takes a deep breath and tells himself it’s not the end of the world. 

_ It’s not that bad. _

But he knows it is. He’s willfully ignoring the carnage he knows he’s going to find when he comes back to his phone. His heart is racing again and he’s definitely going to throw up this time.

He takes another deep breath then emerges from the bathroom.

When he sees Eddie biting his nails with his knees ups, still in the suit, staring at his own phone.

“Oh fuck, Rich. It’s bad. There are copies up already. You have a hashtag.”

“Christ, what is it? No, wait. Don’t tell me.”

“Jesus, how do we get this taken down?” Eddie asks.

“We can’t! I mean, they’ll have content moderates go through eventually but it’s out there now. Fuck!” He falls face first into his bed and yells into the blankets.

“Maybe-” Eddie shifts around, “Maybe it won’t be so-”

“What?” Richie grumbles.

“No, Richie. It’s okay. It’s not… that bad,” but he won’t stop staring at his phone, scrolling down the comments.

“I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know.” He pops his head up to ask, “Eddie, can you hand me that pillow and then suffocate me with it? That’d be great.” Then he drops his face back into the mattress.

Eddie turns his phone off and places it on the end table, “Come here, come here, dude.”

Richie begrudgingly pulls himself closer to Eddie. It’s late, it’s so fucking late. He’s exhausted and can’t think, and he’s unfortunately sobering up, but he wants to pass out for years.

Richie’s phone starts vibrating. He doesn’t want to know who the fuck is messaging him, so he turns away and turns it off, throwing it on the nightstand. “Eddie, this fucking sucks.”

“I know, man. It’ll be okay though. Maybe people won’t really notice? It’s pretty late. Maybe no one important caught it?” He unfastens his suspenders and pulls his shirt off, not minding that it's in a pile. Then kicks his pants off and curls around Richie who won’t turn back to him.

Richie only laughs morosely. 

“Richie, come on, man,” Eddie pulls him closer. And Richie finally turns and wraps his arm around him. “You’ll get through this, okay? You got this. It’ll be okay.”

It has been a long ass fucking day and Richie just wants it to be over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're still dealing with a lot in Minneapolis right now. I'll try to get the last chapter up as soon as I can!


	7. Chapter 7

With the soothing, blunt scratches from Eddie’s nails across his back, Richie had fallen asleep much easier than he anticipated. His body had felt the pangs of exhaustion and finally succumb. 

He woke alone, blinking in the light of the morning, and for a glorious moment it was just another day. As he reached for his phone, he remembered. The pounding in his chest felt worse than the night before, fully realizing exactly what he’d done. Swearing to himself, Richie summoned the courage to turn on his phone. As expected, texts and voicemails seemed never ending. Jason sent a long email that boiled down to  _ We need to talk immediately! _ Rubbing his face, he sighed and opened Twitter.

Trending.

_ Fucking great. _

Comments from every asshole on the site could be found.

_ fuk that faggot! he used 2 b funny but hes a fukkin pillowbitr _

_ I KNEW HE WAS OVERCOMPENSATING!!!!! _

_ dayum homeboy must be big if ole trashmouths face looks like that! _

_ Don’t hate @TrashmouthTozier because he’s gay. Hate him because he’s a trash human. _

And fuck. That one hurts. 

So he makes the wise decision to leave the direct social commentary and check the entertainment news. Websites have articles posted speculating whether it’s a hoax, a publicity stunt, wondering if he was hacked, but most importantly they’re questioning who the mysterious man behind him was. And because he’s a fucking idiot, he decides to scroll through the headlines.

_ Life Imitates Art This Weekend as Tozier Bares All _

_ Richie Tozier’s Not Holding Anything Back! A Method Actor, In and Out _

_ Tozier Bottoms Out _

_ A Painful Snub Isn’t The Only Thing Trashmouth Got Yesterday _

“Jesus,” Richie shakes his head, turning his phone over. 

Closing his eyes, listening to the empty sound of his room, he takes a moment to calm himself before getting out of bed, and yeah, he  _ does _ fucking ache. He takes a shower without thinking, pushing everything from his mind. When he finally wanders out he finds Eddie sitting at the kitchen table frowning in front of his laptop. 

He closes it quickly when he sees Richie and stands. “Uh, hi. How are you feeling?”

“Apparently I fucking came out last night,” he says dryly.

“Yeah,” Eddie says nervously. “Do you want breakfast? I can make you something?”

Richie’s about to decline, but then decides, “You know what, yeah actually. I would. I’m fucking starving, so I will take that pity breakfast.”

Eddie pats his back as he walks past and into the kitchen, “Do you want something greasy and horrible for your cholesterol?”

“Yes, please,” Richie says, as he slides into a seat at the kitchen counter. The second he puts any weight down, he hisses from pain, “No, no, no. Ah, nope.” Then stands back up. He stares at the stool, glaring like it was something other than Eddie’s big cock that made him ache, then tries again, more gently, and he’s able to sit.

Eddie shoots him a  _ Sorry _ glance, but he’s smirking so Richie knows the little shit is actually proud as fuck about it. 

“Have you-” Eddie starts tentatively.

Richie can tell he’s trying to be tactful, but there’s no point in it so he shakes his head, “Just say it, dude. Come on. What do you want to ask? Have I seen the headlines? Have I seen the tweets? Do I have a PR meeting set up with Jason to figure out how I’m going to unfuck myself out of this one?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugs as he pulls some kind of egg substitute out of the fridge, “Basically all of that.”

“Do you have a favorite headline?” Richie asks instead.

_ “Comedian Trashmouth Doesn’t Look Too Upset Coming Up From the Bottom, _ I thought was pretty good.”

“Ha-ha,” Richie fake laughs, “Fuck you.”

“Not if you’re gonna post it online.” 

Richie’s hangs his head, running his hands through his hair, “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“Everyone thinks it’s Ryan,” Eddie says absently, throwing ingredients into the frying pan. “I mean, that  _ I’m _ Ryan.”

“Fuck, really?” He lifts his head to watch Eddie. “God, what am I supposed to say?”

“I guess that’s what you have a manager for.”

“Are you frying bacon?” Richie asks, and he honestly feels like his heart is melting. “Are you fucking making me artery clogging bacon?”

Eddie gives him a chastised glare, but then relents and says, “Yes. Figured it would be a rough day.”

“If I could stand I’d kiss you.” 

“Since you said ‘losers’ a lot of people think it’s someone else who was nominated and lost.”

“Is that what your fanclub says?”

“I’m not in a fucking fanclub, asshole.”

“No, but you were lurking when you were beating off to me all the time. Don’t lie.”

Eddie turns a little red but then says over his shoulder, “It wasn’t on purpose! I just searched your name and it popped up.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t the only thing that popped up, huh Eds?” Richie laughs at Eddie frowning back at him. Then he sighs and rubs his face again, “Alright, so what’s the craziest theory?”

“That I’m actually Amelia in a suit, pegging you.”

Richie laughs at that, “Oh, fuck. I would not be surprised if  _ she  _ started that one to save our little romance.

“Dude, you have some psychotic fans, by the way. They are fucking rabid in your defense. It’s pretty awesome but also fucking terrifying, dude.” 

“I haven’t seen much support. Just a lot of  _ ‘fuck that fag!’ _ ” 

“It’s there, Rich. A lot of people are commenting about the changes you’ve made in the last year and a half. They noticed it from your interviews and new material. They bring up Bowers a lot.” 

“Fanclub. Great,” he says sarcastically.

“No, man. It’s really pretty sweet. You have a lot of people that care about you out there.” Eddie slides him his plate, complete with glorious bacon.

Richie takes a bite and moans around it, “You’re the best.”

“Yeah, I am. Don't fuckin’ forget it,” Eddie agrees. 

“So, how are  _ you _ feeling about this literal fuck up?” 

“Me? I’m freaking the fuck out. That picture is plastered all the fuck over. I’m just happy my dick’s not showing. But it’s still  _ me, _ even if no one knows it. Well, Bev knows. And the guys.”

“Oh, fuck that’s right,” Richie grabs his head. He’s not hungover so he can’t even blame the alcohol, “So, they  _ all _ know?”

“That _was_ the original intention, right?” Eddie leans back against the counter, crossing his arms, “Bev figured it out, she recognised the suit. I sent them a message about it, giving them a heads up. Figured it would be better coming directly from me. Awkward fucking thing to do, by the way, ‘ _ Oh, you know that picture blasted across the internet? That’s just me and Rich fucking. By the way, Rich and I are fucking.’” _

“Well?" Richie cringed, "What’d they say?”

“They didn’t believe me at first. Thought it was a prank. I thought about leaving it at that but Mike knew something was up. I think he kind of noticed something was going on when he was here. Then Bill asked about us being weird on set, I called him a cock-blocker, and it just kind of spiraled into jokes after that. They brought up a lot of shit about you being a dick to me as kids, like it all makes sense now. If you really want to see it all you can check the chat. It wasn't bad, though.”

“I’m not going near my fucking phone ever again.”

Eddie asks, “Are you worried about your career?”

“No! Fuck that. I mean, I was ready to walk the red carpet with you.” He sighs, “Do you want me to, I don't know, talk about you? Post a picture with you, announce our relationship? What do you want?”

“No, no, no!” Eddie says quickly. “Fuck that. I just started my job and I don’t need this hanging over me right now. You’re okay with that, right?”

“Yeah, man. I totally get it. I don’t want to deal with this bullshit either. You’d be dumb as fuck to want this attention voluntarily. Why the hell were we going to walk the red carpet together?” Richie laughs and takes another bite, and it’s fucking amazing. He’s starting to feel a little better with a full stomach.

“I don’t know, man. It wouldn’t have been the same as posting a picture of being fucked,” Eddie laughs.

Richie glares at him, “I bet you love this. I bet you  _ love _ that you’re plastered all over your little fanpages being the one lucky enough to fuck Richie Tozier.”

Eddie smiles at him and shrugs, “It’s not bad, actually.”

The rest of the day Richie stays as far away from technology as he can. He plans a meeting with Jason to talk PR. Richie doesn’t know how the hell they’re going to spin it, or if he even wants to, but he’ll take advice at this point, and that’s what Jason’s being paid for.

A few days pass and everyone is still talking about the Oscar loss, his  _ reckless _ behavior, and the deafening silence from Richie. Some are saying it was attention seeking. Some think it’s an artistic movement, a  _ Fuck you! _ to the Academy for losing. He meets with Jason and has to admit to someone for the second time, since Eddie, that he’s gay. And he has a boyfriend. And the picture was supposed to be a joke to their friends. Jason wants him to put out a statement, but Richie isn’t ready. He says he’ll do something when he comes back from New York and they agree to make a plan for that.

Not that he wasn’t before, but after the picture is published, Eddie becomes more sympathetic to Richie’s concerns. He still calls him a dumbass, but Eddie sees what people are saying about him. Richie stays far the hell away from social media. Eddie likes to share the better comments, and those do make him feel better. But when Eddie’s pouting and frowning, Richie knows he found something bad. 

He ends up talking Eddie into going to New York (only laying on the guilt just a little), which tangentially means he’s talked him into living with him. Richie’s grateful for that. He's definitely not above using his current plight for his own romantic gain.

Even though he’s barely started his new job, Eddie explains that he needs to finish moving his things from New York, and his boss understands. Eddie because calling around, setting things into motion to ensure everything will be moved smoothly.

When Richie shows up to 30 Rock at the start of the week, he is beyond nervous. Besides Jason or Eddie, he hasn’t spoken to anyone about the situation, and it’s weighing on him. Despite the cast and crew being fantastic, no one pushes anything with the news. He lets the stress get in the way of the pitch meetings until he finds himself offering information freely. He has an idea for a monologue, talking about his  _ boyfriend, _ and yes he says the word out loud and he feels twelve, but he lays out the plan. Everyone laughs and he finally feels relieved that maybe he’ll actually be able to move on.

Once the ice is broken, Richie’s too busy with table reads and pitches to see Eddie the week they’re in New York, besides falling into their shared bed at the hotel at night. But it’s okay because Eddie is still arranging to have the rest of his things moved to California. They’re both busy.    


Saturday comes too fast. The monologue played well for dress rehearsal but he’s still nervous when it comes to live television. It isn’t so much the crowd. He does stand up, he’s comfortable in front of an audience. But this content will be personal and after this there’s no denying he’s gay. No calling the picture a stunt. It’s making it real. And he realizes that he wants more than anything to just be at that point.

He waits backstage for his cue and enters to the roar of the applaus as he walks on stage to the band.

The first few jokes feel stiff, he can tell the audience only has one thing on their mind, so when they start the bit and the cast member, Kyle, comes on stage, he knows it’s the right choice.

“Hey, we’re so glad to have you here, man!” Kyle shakes his hand.

“I’m excited to be here,” Richie claps as the audience cheers.

When they quiet down, Kyle continues, “I heard you were working on something new?”

“Yeah!” Richie smiles, turning to Kyle, “Yeah, man. I’m really excited! I have been  _ busting _ my  _ ass  _ on it!” He hears a few giggles in the audience, but it’s still a little tense.

“Oh,” Kyle makes a dramatic look towards them like Richie is unaware of what he said, which encourages their laughter, and asks, “Was it a big collaboration?”

“Oh, it’s  _ big, _ ” Richie smiles, and it’s obvious now he’s in on the joke. The audience begins laughing with more confidence as he adds, “It’s  _ huge.” _ And the titters of laughter finally put him at ease, “A  _ lot _ of late nights.”

Kyle is still using a forced awkward expression as he pretends that Richie isn’t aware of the innuendo, “Oh? I bet you’ve been tired.”

_ “Exhausted!” _ Richie exaggerates. “Some nights I’m  _ worked _ so  _ hard _ I can’t even walk the next day!” Kyle’s reaction and the roaring laughter of the audience almost has Richie laughing himself, but he holds it together and adds, “There, ah-” he smiles and continues, “There was a tight deadline-” the audience hollers, “We didn’t think we’d finish. But we came together in the end!”

Now Kyle is standing stiff and the laughter is thundering throughout the studio. Kyle opens his eyes wide and says, “Well, man, it sounds great.” He pauses for laughter then adds, “Can’t wait to see your next project.”

“Project?” Richie furrows his brow and turns to him, giving him a confused look. They have the censors ready when he says, “I’m talking about being f----d up the a-- by my boyfriend!”

The audience loses it. 

"Hi babe," he throws an effeminant wave and suggestive wink at the camera. When the audience calms down, he says, “Thanks for joining us!” Richie waves, “We’ve got a great show for you tonight! Lizzo is here! Stick around!” 

His mic cuts as the camera pulls back. He thanks Kyle and waves to the audience, then gets ushered over to get ready for the next scene. 

Richie checks his phone quickly to see a text.

_ Eddie: You fucking asshole _

But when he looks up into the audience he sees Eddie is smiling back at him. Richie puts his phone away, shoots him a wink and pulls on the wig for the next sketch.

The rest of the show goes off without a hitch. Richie only breaks a few times which the audience loves so he marks it a success. 

When the show is over he introduces Eddie to the cast members as an old friend who lives in New York. Even though Richie’s _out,_ Eddie never said he’d be ready for it and he doesn’t blame him. They hit the afterparty together, which is mostly an excuse for everyone to get drunk and do bits. The cast shows off, seeing who can make each other laugh the hardest. Richie is worried that Eddie won’t enjoy himself, but it warms his heart to see him have a good time. As far as the partying goes, Richie has already been through the scene and made it out alive so he doesn’t like to push himself too hard. It’s played out and constant in L.A. and if he hadn’t learned how to pace himself he wouldn’t have made it. But he sees the way Eddie’s laughing, and everything is so easy, so he ends up drinking more than usual. He just wants to stay in that moment forever.

When they finally fumble, giggling into their hotel room, Richie pulls Eddie close, kissing him sloppy, then laughing into him Eddie grabs him by his hips, dragging him back towards the bed. 

“I love you so much, Eds,” Richie whispers against his lips. 

“You’re drunk,” Eddie replied.

_ “So _ drunk,” Richie agrees. He allows Eddie to remove his clothes.

“You came out tonight,” Eddie says. “Like officially.  _ Intentionally.” _

“Think they might have figured it out before tonight,” Richie laughs. He feels warm and light and everything is perfect. He lets Eddie guide him into bed.

“It’s late.”

Richie’s arm winds around Eddie’s waist, holding him close, kissing him again. He wills the tight feeling in his chest to pass through the kiss so Eddie can understand exactly what he does to him, “I love you so fucking much.”

Eddie smiles back, “I love you too, you drunk. Now get some sleep.”

He’s reluctant to listen, but settling in next to Eddie he falls asleep easily.

* * *

“Welcome back!” Conan gestures towards the seat next to Richie.

“It’s good to be back,” Richie shakes his hand and sits. 

After the somewhat impromptu official-unofficial coming out monologue at Saturday Night Live, Richie’s agent scrambled to book him on Conan for damage control. 

“So, uh,” Conan laughs to himself, and Richie knows what’s coming, “So, you’ve been in the news a lot lately.”

Richie laughs. Everything feels so much easier than it had the last time he’d been here. Even though his appearance is to smooth over the picture and coming out on national television, he finds himself feeling relaxed for the first time in a long time. 

_ “What?” _ Richie pretends to be confused, “What do you mean?” 

Conan and the audience laugh.

Richie nods his head, “Uh, yeah. So, I had some, ah,  _ technical difficulties _ on Awards night.” The crowd laughs and he adds, “Oh, some of you saw?”

“Right, I think the people might have an idea of what you’re talking about,” Conan added. “And then you hosted Saturday Night Live and had quite the memorable monologue.” 

“Okay, Conan,” Richie starts. He should be nervous, but he’s not. He’s excited for once, even though this moment is one he’s been dreading. He finally gets to move on from it. “We were getting a lot of criticism for  _ The Boy Who Loves You, _ you know, giving the role to a straight man. Which, I totally agree is a little outdated. I really listened, took in all that feedback, and figured the easiest thing to do at this point would be to convert.”

Conan laughs, “Convert?”

“Yep! There was a whole ceremony. Lots of glitter. I had to dance under a big rainbow in ruby red slippers. It was lovely, really Conan.” The audience is laughing but Richie adds, “No, honestly, uh-” he pauses now, ready to make his actual statement, “I am gay. I have an amazing boyfriend, and I’m just tired of trying to hide that.”   
  
“And you shouldn't have to,” Conan adds.

The applause from the audience is deafening. The support and love he feels is overwhelming and unexpected. His throat feels stiff, like he can’t swallow, and his eyes are definitely watering, but he’s said it now. And knowing Eddie will be by his side he’s ready for whatever backlash the world is ready to throw at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure that monologue for SNL would never fly... what with their strict censors and all... but we're just going to pretend for the sake of fiction!


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Eddie likes to think he keeps his life simple. He’s easy enough to please, despite what Richie would say, just do the fucking shit you should be doing and he won’t have a problem with you. Do your reports correctly and _on time,_ and don’t fucking loiter around his office because he’s got shit to do. But when he passes the break room and he hears the chatter die down instantly, he feels suspicious.

“What?” He demands instantly, walking into the room as he looks at Kathryn who was hired the same time he had been, “What’s going on? Why’d everyone stop?”

Kathryn lifts her eyebrows and smirks into her coffee mug, “Nothing!”

He hears Tobias before he sees him, “And another thing, Kaspbrak would nev-” he freezes in the doorway, eyes wide. “Ed!” he laughs awkwardly, “I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah, obviously, or you wouldn’t have stopped talking about me. What the fuck is going on?” He looks around the room placing his hands on his hips. Several interns shrug back, feigning innocence. A few employees who’d been there for some time just laugh. 

“Kathryn, what the hell?”

She cringes, “Well-”

“Tell me! What’s going on?” Because he knows something is _definitely_ going on.

Tobias walks further into the room and asks directly, “Are you friends with Richie Tozier?”

“Aw, fuck. What did he do now?” Eddie sighs. He pulls his phone out to check it for missed messages, only he doesn’t find any.

“I knew it!” Kathryn points at Tobias, “I fucking knew it!”

“Nah, nah, wait a minute,” Tobias turns to Eddie. “You’re just friends, right?”

Richie had been _out_ for months now, and Eddie was proud of him, he really was. But seeing the tabloids eat him alive made Eddie sick. No way in hell could _he_ handle that kind of attention. There’s always a pang of guilt when he denies it, but he replies simply, “We grew up together.”

“See! I told you! _Friends._ Pay up!” Tobias holds his hand out toward Kathryn.

“What the hell is going on?” Eddie asks.

One of the older women sitting around the table says, “They have a bet going, sweetie. They thought it looked like you in one of the tabloid pictures and now they think you’re dating Trashmouth.”

“No way in hell,” Tobias continues, “No fucking way Ed Kasprak is hooking up with Trashmouth Tozier. There’s _no_ universe where that works.”

And now Eddie’s furrowing his brow, “What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Kathryn tries to calm him. “Anyway, _I’m_ not so easily convinced."

“No offense,” Tobias says quickly, “You’re just so Type-A and Richie Tozier seems-” he trails off.

“Not your type,” Kathryn adds diplomatically.

Eddie crosses his arms, “You don’t know my type.”

“Well, you’ve mentioned your ex _wife,”_ Tobias supplies.

“Yeah, _ex,”_ Eddie emphasizes. He wants to do it. He wants to tell them. They don’t think someone like Richie, a famous comedian, talented actor, could find anything appealing in someone like Eddie. Uptight and anxious doesn’t blend well with Richie’s easy going nature, Eddie knows that. And sometimes he wonders how it works himself. But that is for _him_ to wonder. Not an array of co-workers and interns to discuss when he’s not around. He turns to the room, “Hands up. Who all thinks that Richie wouldn’t date someone like me?”

Nearly two thirds of the room raise their hand.

With anger to prove them wrong, he says without thought, “Yeah, we’re together. So you can pay up, Tobias.”

“What?! No way!” Tobias shakes his head. “No way in _hell.”_

“What, you want me to prove it?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah, show me a picture of you two. Not just a picture, but you know, proof,” Tobias demands.

Eddie freezes. After Richie’s _incident_ posting their sex life for the whole internet to see, Eddie regularly purged his phone of anything incriminating. “I don’t have any,” he says without offering more information.

“I knew it! Did Kathryn tell you to say you were together to get me to pay?”

“No!” Eddie’s angry now, “Richie’s my partner! Whatever tabloid picture you’re talking about is probably us on a date. Look at that for your proof.”

“They didn’t catch you at a good angle, that’s why we have the bet,” Kathryn says.

“Bring him to the party,” Tobias offers, “If he’s really your boyfriend, introduce us.”

Eddie holds his breath. He tries to think of an excuse. It’s suddenly sinking in that he just came out at work because he was made over a bet. “Uh, he has a very busy schedule.”

Tobias claps, “Ah! I knew it!”

“Fine! I’ll fucking bring him!” He agrees before he has a chance to stop himself. Then he storms out of the break room wishing he had never gone in.

He’s tense the rest of the day thinking about it, how Tobias didn’t think _he_ was good enough to be with Richie. That the mere idea of being a couple was absurd. At the end of the day he is white knuckling the drive home. 

He slams the door when he enters and yells, “RICHIE!”

“What the fuck?” Richie grumbles, peeking his head up from the sofa in the living room. 

Eddie stomps over to him. Standing next to the couch, he waves his hands at Richie’s legs before growing too impatient. He kicks his legs off, making room for himself, then sits down.

“It finally fucking happened,” Eddie takes a deep breath.

“You got your period?”

“Shut up!” Eddie nudges him.

“I mean, it’s a good thing. Now we don’t have to worry about getting that abortion. I'm not ready to be a father.”

Eddie glares at him, “They saw one of the paparazzi pictures at work.”

“Ah,” Richie sits up, moving his feet enough to allow Eddie to sit back more comfortably. “Well, I mean, we knew that would be a risk.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie sighs. “I mean, I wouldn’t have gone out in public with you if I was really trying to keep it a secret. It’s just, now they know. Like, for sure.” Furrowing his brow, he adds, “And fuck them! You know, they don’t think someone like you would date someone like me? They don’t think I’m good enough for you. Fuck them.”

Richie’s shooting him a confused look, “They _probably_ meant that the other way around-”

“They had a fucking bet,” Eddie crosses his arms, ignoring him. “They saw the picture, and they weren’t sure if it was me, so they made a fuckin’ bet about it.” 

“Why’d you tell them?

“‘Cause they were saying all that bullshit about how no way in hell you would date me. So, I sort of rage confessed. I told them they were wrong and that they could all fuck off!”

“Oh, shit. It wasn’t your boss, was it?” Richie asks.

“No, just some interns and a few that were hired the same time as me. They want you to come with me to the company party. They’re doing this morale thing for the quarter. It’s a good way for me to network, actually. Don’t worry, I can get you out of it. I told them you were too busy. We just have to like, take a picture making out so I can prove to Tobias he's fucking wrong.”

“No, I’m definitely going. We can makeout in front of him. When is it?”

“Saturday.”

“I’m all yours, Eds.”

“Really?” He feels nervous. His heart races thinking about showing up with Richie by his side. “You’d really go with me?”

Richie scoffs, “Look at all the dumb shit I put you through. Yeah, man. Of course I’ll come.”

Eddie smiles at him, “Thanks, Rich.”

“So, this is kind of a big deal, showing up with me to a work event,” Richie says. “You’re okay coming out?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I kind of already did. It just slipped out and I didn’t have time to panic. I was more pissed off that they didn’t think _Mr. Hollywood_ would date me.”

Richie laughs, “Dude, I’m pretty sure they meant that the other way around. Probably thought you had standards. We'll prove them wrong.” 

* * *

Eddie shakes his hands out as they walk closer to the entrance of his office building. His hands tremble knowing he’s about to officially introduce Richie as his partner. The overwhelming desire to flee is bubbling so he pushes it down, trying to keep the panic at bay. He takes a deep breath and Richie stops walking.

Grabbing his shoulders, Richie forces Eddie to meet his eyes, “You sure you want to do this? You don’t owe them anything. We don’t have to go. Or I can leave and you can just go by yourself.”

The idea plays through his mind, walking in alone telling everyone involved in the bet they can fuck off. But then he looks up at Richie, his brow furrowed with genuine concern, and he wonders why he’d ever want to hide being with this man.

“No,” Eddie says softly, nodding, “No, I can do this. I _want_ to do this.”

Richie beams at him, “You want me to roast the fuck out of them?”

“No,” but the thought makes him smile. “Thanks, Richie.”

“You want to fuck me in your office? Help calm your nerves?”

“No,” Eddie walks past him.

Richie hurries alongside him. He can feel his hot breath against his ear as he presses in close, “Come on, ultimate power move, man. We fuck when _I’m_ working _all_ the time.”

“What, to assert your dominance over the set? You have your own trailer. With a bed. It’s different.”

“It’s not _that_ different.” Richie grabs the door, holding it open for him. Eddie throws him a dirty look, but walks in. “You have a door, right? Not like it’s a cubicle.”

“We’re not fucking in my office, dude,” Eddie leads them over to the elevators. He pushes the number to the floor the party is on and stands back next to Richie.

“But you’re in _formal wear,”_ Richie whines. “You know how my dick responds to you in a suit.”

“What I _know_ is that you’re fucking with me, so knock it off.” He steals a glance at Richie who is flashing him a cocky grin. The teasing has worked, though. Richie has taken his mind off the party and he only notices as the lights to each floor illuminate as they get closer to their destination. “Don’t embarrass me, Richie. Not tonight, okay?” His hands are starting to shake again, so he takes another deep breath. “I’ve only been here a couple months and you know they could always replace me. It has to go well, at least with my bosses.”

“I’m gonna charm the fuck out them.” Richie finds his hand and squeezes it reassuringly, “Voices or no voices?”

Eddie smiles up at him, _“Appropriate_ voices.” 

_“Like Dan Rather having an afternoon brunch?”_

Furrowing his brow, he holds his hand out gesturing, “Seriously? What the hell is that?”

“No? Some true crime, then? Break out the Ke-”

“No Keith Morrison! Why are you only doing news guys?”

“Everyone’s sick of Arnold. No one appreciates Alan Alda.”

The light hits their floor and Eddie takes a deep breath, “Eastwood and Pacino. And _only_ if they ask.”

Richie smiles as the elevator opens. He squeezes Eddie’s hand one last time before letting go, and they step into the busy lobby of the floor. 

There are a few event rooms where they normally hold meetings set up as party areas. A room with a bar and trays of food displayed. Eddie heads straight for the alcohol, while Richie loads up on food.

Eddie is used to the tangential stares he receives when he leaves the house with Richie. It was uncomfortable the first few times but he’s grown as accustomed to them as he’ll ever be. Only it’s unsettling all over again to see his coworkers, people he walks by everyday, stare at Richie. He hears a few of them ask each other why the hell _he’s_ there and wonder if he’ll be performing because they really didn’t think it was _that_ kind of event. So Eddie throws back a drink, and grabs two more before walking to Richie. He hands him the spare while nursing his own.

He didn’t like the way they were talking about Richie, so his arm finds its way to his lower back. Eddie knows he’s being possessive, but fuck it. They’re all gonna find out they’re together soon enough anyway.

Richie leans down and whispers, “Since you’re going to be officially out here, you know we can actually kiss and hold hands without having to hide it. This isn’t Maine. No one actually cares about that shit here.”

Eddie smiles up at him warmly, thinking that sounds like a great fucking idea. He’s still panicking when he nods at Richie knowing that people are watching, but he seems to understand. Richie’s lips press chastely against his own, and he smiles into it. It feels good, being free enough to do that in front of everyone.

Pulling away, Eddie awkwardly takes a drink then asks him, “Aren’t you freaking out?”

Richie laughs, “Dude, I’ve had to talk in detail about this shit for months. Not to mention I was paid to makeout with men in a room full of people staring the entire time, then critiquing me after. I think I’m officially unfazed by PDA.” He nudges against his shoulder and asks, “How are you doing?"

“Trying not to freak the fuck out,” Eddie admits, taking another drink before deciding to finish it off. He points back to the bar, “You want another?”

“Dude, I’ve barely made a dent here.”

“I’m getting another one.

He can hear Richie laughing as he walks away. By the time he’s gotten a refill he’s starting to feel more relaxed. When he finds Richie again, he sees he’s not alone. Tobias and Kathryn have found him, as well as a few other interns and some people Eddie hasn’t been introduced to yet. 

Eddie hangs back, just a little out of sight, close enough that he can hear Richie talk. He’s answering their questions which seem like they’re coming in at rapid fire. 

_What’s this director like?_

_Is so-and-so a diva?_

_Tell a joke!_

_Do your voices!_

And Richie’s a champ navigating it all. It warms Eddie’s heart how charming and at ease he is with the inundation of questions hurled at him.

Deciding it’s time to break them up, Eddie cuts into the crowd. 

When he sees Eddie, Richie asks, “So, who wins the bet?”

Eddie watches as Kathryn and Tobias exchange awkward glances.

“Yeah, I told him about it,” Eddie smirks, sidling in close to Richie. Richie wraps his arm around his back in a loose embrace.

“So, how long have you known each other?” Kathryn deflects without answering, but still seems thrown off.

“Since we were kids.” Riche smiles at Eddie then turns back to her, “He didn’t tell you I saved his life?”

“Not this again,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “I slowed him down.” He plays his role of repeating the story about Bowers that they’ve repeated so many times, but at least that part was true. He did stab him in the fucking chest and that’s fucking badass.

“That was _you?”_ Kathryn asks wide eyed looking at Eddie. 

“Yeah, suddenly I’m not so predictable, right?” Eddie smiles back.

“Hey, I’m the one who wins the bet. You can complain to Tobias for not reading you right, but I had you clocked,” she winks. Narrowing her eyes at him, playfully raising an eyebrow she asks, “So, how long have you been together?” 

But the smirk on her lips tells Eddie that she’s asking a very different question. She’s trying to work out the timeline of when Richie leaked the photo.

“No!” He points at her. “No. You’ve won, okay. No more questions.” He grabs Richie’s arm and pulls him away from them. 

Richie waves apologetically back, but asks, “What the fuck was that about?”

“Nothing,” Eddie sighs. 

“No, tell me,” Richie smiles.

“She just figured out it was me in the picture.”

“Oh, shit,” Richie says.

Eddie looks up at him, then backhands his chest when he sees he’s smirking, “Don’t know what you’re laughing at, _you’re_ the one taking it up the ass.”

“And I’d do it again, too!” Richie leans into him, pushing against his side, “I mean, taking it up the ass. Not the picture thing.”

“God, I _hope_ you learned your fucking lesson.”

Between Richie and the alcohol he is able to relax. At first, Eddie takes him away from the crowd, hiding him off before he can be passed around like a party favor. But people gravitate toward them. It’s impossible to keep Richie out of the spotlight and he’d never want to anyway.

Because Richie shines when he has an audience. Every laughter is a victory, Eddie remembers it well from growing up. His humor has become more tasteful and he’s able to reign himself in, editing for the crowd. 

When Eddie’s boss makes his way through, Eddie introduces him to Richie as his partner, holding his breath, waiting for a remark or for him to recoil at the realization that he’s dating a man. But his boss just smiles, shakes his hand, and even compliments Eddie’s work to Richie, letting him know he’s quickly becoming valuable to the company.

Richie beams at Eddie like he already knows how amazing he is but is happy others realize it too.

After his boss leaves, more people wander towards them and the small crowd grows. Several people compliment him on his performance and assure him that he deserved the win. It’s an old conversation at this point, Eddie doesn’t know how he can keep rehashing it, but Richie thanks them and brushes it aside with a joke. 

Eddie extracts himself to get Richie another drink when Tobias crowds in against him.

“Trashmouth isn’t what I expected.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie’s on guard.

“I don’t know. I thought he’d be louder or something. More abrasive.”

Eddie smiles at that, “He’s actually laying it on pretty thick right now.” He looks back to watch Richie telling his jokes and everyone laughing at them. 

Tobias says, “I was a big fan of his standup, like ten, fifteen years ago when he was hitting the scene.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie stills. He’s half expecting him to say something about coming out. Most of Richie’s old fans don’t like him now. When he doesn’t, Eddie adds, “I wasn’t. Fucking hated that shit.”

Tobias laughs.

“Not his early stuff,” Eddie concedes. “I saw him when he was passing through New York after he was first taking off. He was good then, until he sold out. I don’t think he even knew I was in the audience. We went like twenty years without talking.”

“Seems like it worked out for you now, though."

“Yeah,” Eddie smiles at Richie.

“So, we cool?” Tobias asks. 

“Don’t make anymore fucking bets about me, man.”

“Alright, alright!” Tobias pats him on the back.

Eddie shakes his head and makes his way back over to Richie. He can’t be too mad at Tobias and Kathryn because without the bet he wouldn’t have had the balls to invite Richie to the party. And he could definitely get used to being _out._ Eddie slots in easily next to Richie, handing him his drink, while Richie brings him into the conversation effortlessly, gently teasing his coworkers who were brave enough to talk to him. Most of them Eddie’s never even met before, but they’re all laughing at the good-natured jokes at their expense and it warms his chest.

Richie tries to let the conversation pass to someone else, but it’s difficult when everyone keeps turning to him. Eventually he tilts his head and asks, “Hey, Eds, where’s the bathroom in this joint?”

Eddie knows he’s looking for an out from the attention, so they excuse themselves, to the great disappointment of his audience.

When they’re far enough away Richie says, “Show me your office.”

Eddie rolls his eyes but figures it's the best place to get a break, so he leads him through the floor until they get to his door. He unlocks it and gestures for Richie, who has an annoying grin, to step inside.

“We’re not fucking in my office, Rich.”

“Have you already done the math?” Richie walks over to his desk and leans against it. “Calculated all the risks?” He teases, “Weighed the possibility of getting caught? That’s the fun of it.” He pulls at Eddie’s tie and kisses him gently, “Come on, live a little, Eddie.”

Scoffing, Eddie replies, “Posting that picture didn’t sate your exhibitionist nature enough, you want me to get fired too?”

Richie’s hands are under his jacket, rubbing over his chest, “Yeah. I missed when you were my live-in boyfriend. You’ll be well kept.”

“Your ass is nice but it doesn’t come with insurance, a 401k, or viable stock options, sorry.”

“We can get married and you can divorce me and take me for all I’ve got,” Richie offers against his lips. “Talk about retirement fund, it’ll be millions more than you’ll earn here.”

“Most of it will go to the lawyers in the divorce,” Eddie plays along. “In any case, sounds like a lot of work just to fuck in my office when we could just fuck at home.” Eddie knows Richie’s messing with him, trying to get a _rise_ out of him, which isn’t a difficult task anytime they kiss.

Richie pulls away from him and asks carefully, “Have you thought about it before?”

“Fucking in my office?” Eddie asks, furrowing his brow.

“Getting remarried.”

Eddie’s heart stops and his stomach jumps nervously. Blinking back at Richie, he starts, “I-”

“I’m not, like, proposing here. I’m just asking-” Richie adds quickly. 

_“You_ want to get married?”

“No,” Richie says. “I mean, I don’t know. I _would-”_ his voice is so quiet when he adds, “If _you_ wanted to, I would.”

“I haven’t thought about it,” Eddie admits honestly.

Richie hangs his head a little when he says, “I hated when Myra kicked me out of the hospital, Eds _._ I don’t- I don’t know what I would do if something like that happened again and I couldn’t see you.”

“You’d bribe your way back in like last time,” Eddie tries to tease, but he can see how serious Richie is. “You’ve _actually_ been considering this?”

Richie shrugs.

“I never thought I’d get married again,” Eddie says.

Richie nods solemnly in acceptance. A dejected hang of his shoulder that breaks Eddie’s heart.

“That’s not-” Eddie grabs Richie’s face to make him meet his eyes, “That’s not a _no._ I just never thought about it.”

A small smile twitches at the corner of Richie’s lips, “Not a _no?”_

“It might even be a _yes,_ ” Eddie says recklessly now that Richie is shining brightly back at him. 

Everything he’s done with Richie has been reckless. He got a divorce, left his job, and flew across the country in the middle of the night just to see him. Just to tell him how he felt. To maybe have a few moments of bliss before life barreled down on top of him again. But then it never did. Building a life with Richie felt unreal. It was all so easy, even the really fucking hard parts, hiding themselves like they were ashamed even though it was the world’s reaction they couldn’t face.

“Yeah, Richie,” he says when he realizes, “Of course I’d marry you.”

Richie’s on him, kissing him like it’s the first and the last all at once. Slow and desperate and enough to leave Eddie sighing into his mouth wanting more. He knows he'll always want more. The time he spends with Richie is never enough.

So, marriage? Why the hell not? If marriage will help ease any of Richie's fears, and it if means Eddie gets to live the rest of his life with Richie, then sign them fuck up.


End file.
